


Once Upon A Time When We Were Friends

by SweetLittleLamb



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Clueless!Derek, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, M/M, Offscreen character death, Pack Feels, kid fic (ish)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 06:33:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetLittleLamb/pseuds/SweetLittleLamb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles was pack, he'd had no reason to doubt that in years.  So, when the pack needed him, he was on the first flight back to Beacon Hills, fully prepared to help to mend their broken hearts.  He'd spent a lot of years reigning in his emotions, being the friend he was supposed to be, and this time wasn't going to be any different.  Until it was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into the world of Teen Wolf fic (and the first time I've "ficced" in over a year and a half), so pardon any glaring OOCness and general suckatude. I lean pretty heavily toward entirely too much dialogue, not enough detail and an annoying habit of sticking commas and ellipses everywhere, so consider yourself warned. This is a creative outlet for me, I'm not trying to kid myself that I'll be setting the fic world on fire.
> 
> I will add tags as they become necessary. I'm typically astute at identifying triggers and kinks, but can't tag every possible preference. I appreciate everyone who bothers reading this, but I have to draw the line somewhere, right?
> 
> FYI...I, myself, abhor WIPs...they are entirely too risky. However, I promise, barring my unexpected demise, this absolutely will be finished...and somewhat quickly. My ADD will not allow me to drag this 'verse on forever.

_Once upon a time when we were friends_  
 _I gave you my heart, the story ends_  
 _No happy every after,_  
 _Now we’re friends._  
 _-ABC "All of My Heart"_

**Prologue**

“Stiles. Stiles, c’mon, stop. We can’t….”

Stiles continued chasing the lips that, in his esteemed opinion, were doing entirely too much talking and not enough kissing. He just wanted to feel their soft warmth against his for a little bit longer. _Okay…lies…a lot longer, but he’d be willing to take what he could get, given the less than ideal locale and the truly horrifying amount of blood and...was that actual intestine?._

Try as he might; however, he had to admit defeat when Derek grabbed his shoulders and pushed him gently away, putting enough distance between them that Derek’s hands could remain firmly planted, but there was no possibility of Stiles getting his kiss-swollen mouth back on Derek's.

“Stiles, this can’t happen.” 

He didn’t mean to let the groan escape...he was really going for something more dignified...but the disappointment was overriding any sense of decorum he could muster up under the circumstances. He lifted his own hands to curl around Derek‘s elbows. “C’mon, Derek. It’s already happening…and it‘s awesome.” He tried to make eye contact, to force Derek to look at him so he could see that everything was fine. Hell, everything was better than fine.

But, Derek, instead, looked past him, as if something just over Stiles’ left shoulder was creating a spectacle that could not be missed. Knowing he'd find nothing behind him worth seeing, bar the fascinating stucco façade of the warehouse they’d exited minutes before, Stiles’ heart sank. Derek wasthe most intense person he'd ever come across and Stiles had been the recipient of the patented Alpha Stare of Doom enough times to know that the fact that he couldn’t look Stiles in the eye did not bode well for the remainder of this conversation. And it certainly didn’t give him much hope of them getting back to the making out portion of the evening. 

Derek opened his mouth, but then clamped it shut as if he needed to reorganize his thoughts. Again, not a good sign when Derek Hale needs to take a moment to formulate what he wants to say.

Giving up any hope of getting all of this back on track, Stiles looked down at his shoes and made every effort to keep his voice steady. “Let me guess…it’s not you, it’s me.”

“Listen, Stiles, I know that you’re. Just. Fuck. Look, I get it that you’re gay or bisexual, okay?”

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that…,” Stiles muttered, unable to hide his annoyance.

Derek blew out a soft puff of air that couldn’t really constitute a laugh, but was as close to it as Stiles had ever heard from him. “Finally, a pop culture reference I actually understand.” Stiles looked up in time to see Derek’s face soften as if he was finally remembering something that didn’t make him want to rip things apart.

Derek caught Stiles' gobsmacked expression, he shrugged and rolled his eyes. “Laura and I spent a lot of time holed up in a tiny apartment in New York, the smells of the city and the noise were a lot to take for two werewolves who’d grown up in the woods. We watched a shitload of tv, I think we only had about 6 channels, but Seinfeld reruns were always on.”

And isn’t that just another kick in the teeth. The first time Derek has ever opened up, even a tiny bit, about his life before his return to Beacon Hills and it’s in the middle of the ultimate kiss-off. _Ha…kiss-off…Stiles wishes that were funny._

Just like that, the moment was gone. “As I was saying…I know that you’re somewhat _fluid_ , but that’s not me, Stiles. I’m not interested in being with a guy. I’m sorry.”

Stiles threw his hands up in the air, breaking contact with Derek and, as usual , his mouth was quicker on the draw than his brain, his voice just barely below a shout. “Huh. Well, you could’ve fooled me when your tongue was trying to lick my fucking uvula, Der. I don‘t know, but it felt pretty _fluid_ to me.”

“Jesus, Stiles. It’s hard for me to explain. It’s just…you’re _pack_.” Derek put his hand up to stop the retort he knew was coming. “Don’t start…you have to know that’s true by now. My wolf claimed you as pack the first time you stuck that idiot neck of yours out to save my life, so let me finish.” He took a deep breath and finally let his eyes meet Stiles’. “You’re pack and my first instinct with you is always going to be to protect, while my second is going to be to comfort. You were hurt and you…”

Stiles nearly crowed with indignation, interrupting whatever Derek was going to say next. “Wait just a fucking minute. So you’re telling me that you kissed me to make me all better? You were just kissing my wittle boo-boo away? ‘Cause, I gotta tell ya, D, ya missed. That bitch scratched my arm, not my lips.”

Stiles wondered if he may have gone too far when he felt Derek‘s fingers grip into his shoulders, and…yep…there they were…the red eyes. “God damn it, Stiles, stop making this so fucking difficult. You needed comfort and the lines got blurred. I could smell what you wanted from me and my wolf needed to give it to you.”

Against his better judgment, Stiles found himself pushing Derek’s arms away from him and screeching in a way he was pretty sure he‘d regret later. “What the fuck, Derek? I’m sorry, but that kiss? You weren’t hatin’ it, son.”

Stiles watched as Derek took what looked to be a few calming breaths, his eyes returning to something more human, and if this wasn’t such a fucking shitshow of a situation, he probably would have laughed at the big, bad wolf trying to get his Zen on. “I never said I hated it, Stiles. We’re tactile creatures, we crave contact, you know that. I wasn’t disgusted by kissing you, that’s not what I’m saying.”

Stiles ran his hands through his hair, for the first time enjoying the feeling of having something to pull a little. “So what exactly is it you are saying, Derek. Because you’ve been nothing but a fuckton of mixed signals since we stumbled out of that warehouse.”

“Don’t do this Stiles. This isn’t going to go anywhere good. I don’t want to hurt you, you know that.” It struck Stiles that this was Derek actually pleading. This was as close to begging as Stiles was ever likely to see.

Unfortunately, frustration overruled all of the other emotions warring within him, and Stiles clenched his teeth, the words spitting out before he could stop them,. “For fucksake, you’re an alpha fucking werewolf. Quit being a fucking coward and fucking say it, Derek.”

Derek’s eyes flashed once again before Derek let out a roar that registered anguish more than anger. 

“Fine, but fuck you for making me do this, Stiles. That kiss wasn’t something I wanted. I gave it to you because I knew that _you_ did, and I regret it. I don’t want you, not like that, and I never will.” 

Stiles let out an audible "whoosh" and looked away from Derek‘s tortured face. “Okay then. Can’t get much clearer than that, right? Well, don’t I feel all kinds of awkward? Good thing it’s a feeling I've gotten pathetically accustomed to, I guess.”

With hands flailing and trying once again to make eye contact, to make this horrible moment go away, to show Derek that he’d be fine, Stiles tried to diffuse what he would heretofore call “the suckage of all suckages”. “Listen, no hard feelings, man. No, seriously, stop…your face is ridiculous right now. I’ll be fine. Fantastic, even. Locking up that chest of humiliation and throwing away the key. Movin’ on. No lookin’ back. Gonna keep on keepin’ on. First star to the left and straight on til…”

“Stiles. Jesus.” The growl was just this side of a whimper.

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. A little word vomit there. Anywho…I’m gonna’ go ahead and skedaddle. Make like a tree and…” At the pained look on Derek’s face, Stiles gave him what he hoped was a something close to his signature impish smile, but was likely embarrassingly closer to a gassy grimace. “Right then. Whew, close call…this was almost painful, am I right?”

And with those mortifying parting words, Stiles turned on his heel and walked away, praying to all of the gods, every single fucking one, that he was pulling off something more dignified than the pitiful mope of a dog with its tail between its legs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops...I forgot to mention my propensity for italics! Sorry!

_What’s it like to have loved and to lose her touch?  
What’s it like to have loved and to lose that much? -ABC “All of My Heart_

 

**5 years later**

 

Once the _Fasten Seatbelts_ sign had finally turned off, Stiles settled more comfortably into his seat and glanced at the man taking the opportunity to enter Stiles‘ personal space. Slumping lazily against him, his ridiculous hair tickling Stiles‘ neck, Scott McCall was doing a piss-poor job of pretending that he wasn’t scent-marking him in public. Over the course of the 7 years since Scott had been bitten, Stiles had learned that some things were just part of the wolfy experience, and the need to rub his stink all over his favorite things (Allison and Stiles heading the top of that list) was one of them. Usually, Scott was able to control the urge until they were alone, but the stress he’d been under for the last few days made him needier than usual and Stiles was not going to deny his best friend something he so clearly needed.

If he was completely honest, Stiles kind of needed the physical comfort Scott’s gentle face rubs provided as well. Had Scott given him more time before they had to leave for their flight, Stiles doesn’t doubt that they would have ended up curled into one another on the sofa of Stiles’ apartment, taking comfort in each other as they’d been doing since they were kids. Becoming a werewolf had made Scott less concerned with the social proprieties that governed snuggling with one’s friends, but their relationship had always been punctuated by their need for close contact even before then. They’d experienced so much heartache together at such a young age, first, the devastating loss of Stiles’ mom and then the heartbreak of watching Scott’s dad walk away without a backward glance, that they’d disregarded the arbitrary social norms that dictated that the boys needed to keep a certain amount of physical space between them. 

Despite his roommates constant needling, Stiles and Scott’s relationship had never been a sexual one, but they maintained an intimacy that Stiles had never found with anyone else. God knows, he’d made every effort to change that. He’d not exactly lived like a monk in the years following high school graduation. Philadelphia was a city full of possibilities and Stiles had taken advantage of that to the very best of his abilities. He’d had short-term hook-ups, months long relationships and a sprinkling of one-night stands. And while most of the memories he carried of the sexual awakening that was his undergrad years were downright fantastic, he’d yet to make a connection with someone that superseded what he had with Scott, and, to some degree, the rest of the pack. 

It had hurt like hell to leave them behind in California (and a part of him...the part with no concept of self-preservation...honestly hadn’t planned on going anywhere that wasn‘t a short car ride home) but the scholarship to UPenn had been too tempting to turn down. He knew that his attachment to the pack was probably not what anyone with even a rudimentary understanding of psychology would consider “healthy”, especially given his continued inability to sprout unfortunately patterned facial hair and pointy fangs, since Stiles had chosen to remain human in spite of his feelings toward the werewolves. But it was hard to describe that kind of kinship he’d formed with each and every one of them. He understood that the wolf was largely responsible for the way in which they kept him close, sought his companionship and protected him at all costs, but it was hard to explain why _he_ returned the gestures. Anyone from the outside looking in would have thought that Stiles would have taken every opportunity to divest himself of the supernatural shitfest that often accompanied their presence, but Stiles rejoiced in being a part of something bigger than himself, something more than just striving for the average expected accomplishments. To be sure, he loved the mysticism that surrounded the pack and that power that he himself provided when his “spark“ was utilized, but, more than that, he relished in the feeling of _belonging_ , of being needed. But he knew, even then, that putting some distance between himself and the rest of them was probably prudent, even if he had a hard time admitting it and following through.

So now, looking down at Scott as he nuzzled into the soft cotton of Stiles’ threadbare t-shirt, Stiles’ heart was torn in two directions. First and foremost, he was heartbroken at the unimaginable loss his pack had suffered, but his second, instinctual response was to be grateful that the pack needed him to return, to find satisfaction in the reminder that, without him, the pack didn’t function as a whole. There was a long, difficult road ahead of them, and Stiles’ was an integral part of the journey.

Leaning back against the seat, he allowed his eyes to drift closed, going over the events of the last few hours.

_Stiles jumped up from the kitchen table, where he’d been not-really-enjoying yet another lunch of ramen noodles (“Shrimp Flavored”, apparently, was not indicative of the presence of actual shrimp, go figure), heart racing at the unexpected pounding on the apartment door. It was midday on a Tuesday and he’d been planning to spend the day holed up in his bedroom, scanning the want ads on Indeed. Turns out that a Bachelors in Criminology, even from a prestigious school like UPenn, didn’t immediately parlay into an exciting short term position. He was planning on completing his Master’s, so anything more permanent wouldn’t work for him._

_Looking through the peephole, Stiles was pleasantly surprised, if a little thrown, to see the distorted face of his best friend. Scott had shown up unexpectedly a few times over the years, usually coinciding with a trip on pack business (Stiles loved to tease Derek about being like the fucking Godfather with how he was forever having to “make nice” with the other families), but no one had mentioned any trips East in his last phone call._

_“Hey buddy!” Stiles threw open the door and launched himself at Scott, wrapping his arms and legs around him they way he knew Scott only pretended to hate. He felt Scott’s arms come up around his back and grip him tightly, while Scott’s face burrowed into Stiles’ neck. It wasn’t until he heard a muffled hiccup that he felt a sinking dread curl through his stomach._

_He gripped his friend a little tighter before dropping his legs and pulling his head back to try to look down at Scott‘s face. “Scott, what’s going on? Dude, you’re scaring me.” His voice growing more frantic as Scott continued to sniffle into his neck, Stiles felt as if his heart was beating out of his chest, different scenarios running through his head, each one worse than the last. “Oh my God, is it my dad? Please don’t tell me it’s my dad, ‘cause you know I just can’t, Scott. What happened to my dad?”_

_Still not pulling away from Stiles’ neck, Scott shook his head. “It’s not your dad, Stiles.” Scott’s muffled voice shook. “It’s Jenna. Jenna’s dead. She’s actually dead, Stiles.”_

_The tears were flowing freely at that point, and Stiles could do little more than continue holding his friend as his own world turned on its axis. Jenna was dead. Beautiful, fierce, funny as shit Jenna. “Are you sure?” The question almost escaped his lips before he could stop it. Of course he was sure. Jenna was dead. Jesus. Stiles couldn’t imagine a world where Jenna’s flashing green eyes and bawdy laugh didn’t exist. In fact, he could scarcely remember _not_ knowing Jenna, she was just that much of a presence. _

_Aside from Lydia, who would always be the gold standard for Stiles when it came to the perfect synthesis of physical beauty and badassedness, Jenna was the embodiment of everything Stiles had ever imagined he could want in a girl. Granted, also like Lydia, he never stood a chance with her, but that never mattered. She was the kind of person Stiles was happy just to be around. She was smart as a whip, with a sense of humor to match, and honest to God, she just about _glowed_. Maybe some of that could be written off as that damned werewolf charisma that made the bite not seem like much of a curse when Stiles looked around him at the ridiculous amount of hotness that surrounded him whenever he was home, but there was a lot about Jenna that was unique to only her. She was a devoted friend who would rip the throat out of anyone or anything that threatened those she loved (Stiles included, on more than one occasion), but she had the gentlest soul of anyone in the pack. She loved with her whole heart and she made sure that everyone knew it._

_Reaching up to run his right hand through Scott’s hair, a gesture he knew from experience soothed and comforted, Stiles tried to put enough distance between them so that he could pull Scott into the apartment and ask the questions that needed answers._

_Once Scott had extricated himself from Stiles’ throat, he allowed himself to be led into the living room, where Stiles gently sat him down in the leather recliner the sheriff had gifted him from their living room back in Beacon Hills. When Melissa had moved in with his dad, she’d come to Stiles first to ask how he’d feel if she made some aesthetic changes to the house. She was careful to assure Stiles that the essence of his mother would always be welcome, but that the house had become something of a bachelor pad and she would like to add some of her own touches. It was a no-brainer for Stiles…Melissa had honored his mother’s memory in so many different ways over the years (from driving Stiles to the cemetery at one o‘clock in the morning when he‘d come to her room, crying during a sleepover because he‘d realized that he‘d called her “mom“ when he and Scott had bid her goodnight from their tent in the living room, to leaving a plate of his mom’s favorite cookies on their front porch every year on his mom’s birthday) that he never had any doubt that she would continue to do so in the future._

_So, when it was decided by general consensus that the chair had to go, Stiles took ownership. The thing was ugly as sin and worn all to Hell, but it was the comfiest chair in existence and, right now, he was damned grateful that it was also big, as he found himself pulled down into it, half of his body on top of Scott, while the other was wedged between him and the arm of the chair. Not that he minded, he was feeling unbelievably strewn apart and the safety of the familiar chair and the smell and feel of his best friend in the entire world were more than welcome._

_“What happened?”_

_“We’re not exactly sure. She was out for a run and didn’t come back.” Scott’s rubbed at his face, his voice as weary as Stiles had ever heard. “Derek found her at the edge of the preserve. She had a bullet in her chest. Deacon said it pierced her heart, she never stood a chance.”_

_“Wolfsbane?” Stiles knew that Scott would get the implication in the question._

_“No…not necessary with a clean shot like that, man, so we don’t know if hunters were involved. Allison’s reaching out to all of her contacts, but, so far, nothing is coming up. She’s never heard of a hunter using untreated bullets, but we don’t want to make any assumptions right now.”_

_Stiles gingerly lifted himself off of the chair so he could kneel down in front of Scott, his hands on his friend’s knees. “What do you guys need me to do? I can get in touch with some of the packs around here, ask if they’ve heard anything about hunters breaking the code or random killings?”_

_Scott looked up from where he’d been picking at a thread at the hem of his shirt, a nervous habit that even the bite couldn’t conquer. “We need you to come home, Stiles. The pack just really needs you now.”_

_“Dude, that goes without saying, I’ll come back for whatever services you guys plan and I’ll help with the arrangements in any way I can.”_

_Scott reached out and gripped Stiles’ hands. “No, we need you _home_ , Stiles. Like, for good if we can have it, but at least for a while.”_

_Stiles felt the breath catch in his throat. Aside from the first summer after Freshman year, he’d only gone home for short visits over the years, a week here, a few days there, but he’d never stayed any longer than that. He was a part of the pack and he loved being around all of them, but, despite the passage of time and all of the changes that had gone with it, being around them for extended periods of time made him want things he knew he could never have._

_“I’ll be come back for as long as you need me.”_

 

Stiles tried to let the motion of the plane lull him into sleep, knowing that once they’d arrived at LAX, it was unlikely that he’d get much rest for the foreseeable future. The pack’s grief would be overwhelming, he knew, and he’d have to make every effort to be strong and solid for each and every one of them, despite his own heartache. But his mind couldn’t stop running over this new reality.

Jenna was dead. 

Derek’s wife was dead. And the one person who would need comfort the most was the one person he didn’t know how to console.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please bear with me on this one. It's been entirely too long since I've written anything and this fic is a little self-indulgent. I'm just trying to get my feet wet again...this is nothing like riding a bicycle for me. 
> 
> I tend to play around with tenses, so if you see any glaring mistakes, please let me know. I don't have a beta right now, so the mistakes are all my own.

_Well I hope and I pray_  
That maybe someday  
You’ll walk in the room with my heart.  
-ABC “All of My Heart“ 

The ride to Beacon Hills from the airport was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Alison had picked them up, and after the expected tears and grief-wracked groping, the three of them all needed some time to ruminate and regroup before heading to Derek’s. Stiles took the opportunity to text back and forth with his dad, who was putting in a lot overtime trying to work both the legal and supernatural angles of the case. Stiles had been forced to clue him on the horror movie his life had become when the alpha pack had kidnapped Scott. Chris Argent was not inclined to offer up his firepower to save the boy he was certain was just waiting for the first excuse to sink his fangs into his daughter, so Stiles’ dad was the only person who had access to enough weapons to do what may have needed to be done.

It had turned out that the sheriff’s help wasn’t needed, as they were able to iron out a truce that left both sides reasonably happy, but Stiles hadn’t regretted clueing his dad in. The lies had been stacking up and the guilt was eating him alive. He’d been placed on house arrest for two weeks before his dad had caved and told him to “go out and play with your friends again”. Stiles wasn’t sure if it was Scott’s baleful hound dog eyes or Derek’s assurances that Stiles’ safety was a top priority, but his dad hadn’t kept him from the pack since. In fact, he’d grown to be a well-respected ally whose counsel they sought on a number of occasions. It was amazing how human laws governed such a large portion of werewolf behavior, as most packs weren’t interested in running afoul of the police and risking exposure.

Scott had told Stiles on the plane that his dad had insisted on being the one to interview Derek and how he had handled the distraught and angry alpha with a finesse that no one else seemed capable of accomplishing. For the past few years, Stiles had liked to think that maybe the sheriff provided something akin to a father figure to Derek. He’d seen the way Derek often deferred to his dad, the way he was open to suggestions the man provided. It hadn’t all been rainbows and unicorns and it took a long time for the two men to develop the current affinity they had for one another. 

Frankly, there were times when Stiles wished that they weren’t quite so tight…like when he’d ill advisedly gotten involved in that coven during the winter break of his Freshman year and he’d had to suffer through a tag-teamed lecture on how “it was time he learned some Goddamned self-preservation and stopped acting like an impulsive child”. _Yeah, good times. How was he supposed to know that he’d stumbled upon a vicious bunch of sociopaths who thought his magical virgin blood would raise their dead with a capital “D” High Priestess? Rotting corpses aren’t the thing. The gave witches a bad name, the fuckers. Thankfully, he'd taken care of that pesky virginity issue a few weeks into the Spring semester...the crazies would have to look elsewhere for their pure sacrifice, damn it._

But, now with Derek having suffered yet another devastating loss, Stiles was grateful that his dad and Derek had the bond they did. And sheriff knew better than most what it was like to lose the person you thought you’d be spending your life with. He was a little put-off that his dad hadn’t called him as soon as he’d heard about Jenna’s murder, but he understood that he’d deferred to the pack and allowed them to send someone to tell Stiles in person. And, if he was honest, having someone to cling to while he was processing the news really _did_ help to keep him from fraying completely. Despite Scott’s own grief, he was a solid, familiar presence who gave Stiles a feeling of security and home…and, yes, _pack_. Looking up at Scott’s sitting stoically next to Allison, their hands clasped together over the console, Stiles sent out a silent “thank you” to the universe for the niche he’d carved for himself.

It had been a long road of tears, blood and negotiation, but Allison and Scott had managed to forge a relationship that the entire pack supported. Surprisingly, it was Derek who’d extended the first olive branch, acknowledging the benefits of happy pack members. Boyd; however, had been a much harder sell. He’d likely never quite forgive Allison for what she’d done to him and Erica, but he’d stoically accepted her place in the pack once she’d proven time and again what she was willing to risk to protect every single one of them. Besides, Boyd was pragmatic enough to know that Allison was a force to be reckoned with and having her on their side could only benefit them.

They‘d decided that they would drive straight to Derek‘s so that the pack could be together as a whole as soon as possible, and when they turned into the long drive, Stiles felt both the familiar Jones to be with his closest friends once again and the anxiety of what was bringing them all back together. After the familiar twists and turns, Allison was parking in front of the sprawling contemporary. The original Hale house had been torn down three years ago, entirely too damaged and dangerous for a rebuild, and Derek had hired contractors to build a house that rivaled it in size, but shared very little characteristics with the place where his family had been burned alive. He thought of the insurance money from his family’s deaths as blood money, but knew that the best way to carry on their legacy was to make a home for his new pack. Derek had told them that Laura had been a fan of mid-century inspired architecture, so he had chosen a home design he felt would honor her. The house was almost entirely composed of reclaimed wood, with cork floors and natural textures playing off the clean lines that could have made it seem cold and lifeless. The floor-to-ceiling windows that punctuated both the first and second floors gave the illusion that the exterior and interior were seamless, perfect for the werewolves who many would claim to be the antithesis of _nature_ , but were, at their most basic, defined by the natural world. It was an amazing piece of architecture and Derek had painstakingly chosen every aspect of its design, with some input from the rest of the pack, particularly Isaac.

It had been Isaac who’d finally convinced Derek that it was time to stop torturing himself and his betas and start over again, as it was Isaac who could _feel_ the way Derek mourned every time he entered the burned out shell, Isaac who whimpered and keened each time Derek forced himself and the pack to spend time there. And it was Isaac who was currently the only one of the original betas who maintained a permanent residence. That Isaac was empathetic went without saying, he’d always been tuned into the pain and suffering of other living creatures, but his connection to Derek was profound and Derek had long-since learned to guard Isaac’s feelings with the same veracity he guarded his physical well-being.

Once Allison had exited the car, Scott turned around in his seat to look at Stiles. “Are you okay, man? I know this can’t be easy for you.” Bless his goofy heart, Scott never overlooked or negated Stiles’ feelings for Derek. He’d known about the massive crush he’d been nursing for the past 6 years and Stiles was grateful that there was at least one person who understood how hard he’d worked to maintain some semblance of self-preservation.

“Yeah, I’m fine. This isn’t about me, I know that. Honestly, I’m just really gonna miss the fuck out of that girl, is that weird?” Stiles asked.

“Nah, that’s just who you are. You never held Jenna’s place as Derek’s wife against her.”

Stiles sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. “I’m just not sure where my head is on this. I really loved Jenna and this is like a knife to the heart, but, on the other hand, it’s Derek, man. I’m not even sure how to act toward him.”

“Just do what comes naturally. I know Derek really wants you here. He’s the one who insisted that I fly out to bring you home.” Scott reached back and gave Stiles’ knee a reassuring pat.

“That’s actually good to hear. I kind of keep my distance so my pining bullshit doesn’t bleed all over him, but I always hope he doesn‘t notice.”

“Derek’s Derek, Stiles. He’s not exactly in touch with his feelings, so I doubt he’s noticed anything. Just be his friend, it’s one of your best qualities.” Scott turned back around and got out of the car.

Stiles took a few deep breaths and did the same.

He’d only gotten about halfway up the front walkway when the door swung open and a blur of blond locks and leather came crashing down the slate steps and into him, knocking him backward, a cold nose nuzzling into his ear. “Oh, fuck, Stiles, you came. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Jesus, Erica, warn a guy, would ya?” Stiles patted his friend’s back before winding his fingers into her long hair and pulling away from the direction of his neck. Erica was probably the werewolf who was least inclined to follow what was considered to be acceptable behavior and her exuberance could sometimes be a bit…overwhelming. He’d never judged her for it, given everything she’d suffered at the hands of the Argents and the alpha pack, though. She needed reassuring physical contact even more than the rest, and he’d learned to overcome his own discomfort to give it to her whenever he could.

Erica had been the first loss they’d all experienced as an almost-pack and it was her presusumed death that had first bound them together back when Scott wasn’t interested in having an alpha and Derek couldn’t even consider trusting him after the Gerard debacle. Boyd had been returned to them, beaten and flayed open, but it was Erica who the alphas had chosen to use as the ultimate example. They’d left her scalp, the wavy blond locks fanned out around it, on the blackened porch of Derek’s house and waited for the young pack to surrender. They’d wanted Derek to join them and to assimilate the Hale territory into their own, and they’d assumed that his desire to protect the remainder of his makeshift pack would tip the scales in their favor. They hadn’t counted on Stiles; however, having no knowledge of the budding magic in the boy, and they certainly hadn‘t counted on the fierce loyalty that the teenager possessed. It had been Stiles who’d been the first to declare all out war on the alpha pack, who’d designed the plan that eventually brought Duecalion to his knees. And then, once the carnage had been disposed of and the Beacon Hills pack had returned to the Hale house to lick their wounds and mourn their loss, Derek had lifted his head, his nostrils flaring, and bound out the front door into the woods. He’d come back less than a half hour later with a broken and catatonic Erica in his arms. It had taken her weeks to heal physically and her emotional healing would always be a work in progress, so no one in the pack would ever deny her what she needed from that point forward. It was Erica’s return that truly bonded them all together as a pack, the knowledge that they were stronger as a cohesive unit and the desire to make sure that she never had to suffer like that again.

Once he’d managed to extricate himself from her tangled limbs, Stiles placed a gentle kiss on her forehead and turned them both toward the house. “How is he?”

“He’s pissed, Stiles. He’s so fucking angry that he doesn’t seem to know what to do about it,” Erica whispered. “They killed her. How is he supposed to deal with that?”

Stiles shook his head, throwing his arm around Erica’s shoulder, keeping his voice as low as possible as well. “I can’t even imagine. She was the love of his life and someone took her from him.” 

Erica raised her eyebrows, but before she could reply, the front door opened again and Stiles felt his stomach drop as he looked up at the man walking toward him. 

Derek looked wrecked. There was just no other word to efficiently describe it. So when he spoke, Stiles was surprised by how strong and commanding he still sounded. “Stiles. Thanks for coming.”

Stiles shifted himself away from Erica so he could approach the other man and, without giving himself the opportunity to over think it, he pulled Derek into a tight embrace, murmuring into the alphas ear. “Jesus, Derek, I’m so fucking sorry. What can I do for you, buddy, you name it and I’m there?”

Derek gripped Stiles tightly and huffed into his neck. “Just come inside. I need to talk to you about what we’ve found so far. Help me find out what happened to her. ”

Derek pulled away and turned back toward the house with Stiles following closely behind. But, just before he walked back into the house, Derek turned and glared at him. “Oh, and Stiles? Then we’re going to talk about why you smell like another wolf.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned my hate/hate relationship with tenses? I tried to catch all the wonkiness, but I'm sure some got away from me.

_Wish upon a star if that might help  
The stars collide if you decide. -ABC "All of my Heart"_

 

Oh shit. Henry.

Scott had, up until that point, been the only person that Stiles had let in on his little secret. After the Gerard incident and the subsequent self-flagellation that Scott had inflicted on himself over Stiles getting hurt, they’d made a pact to never keep secrets about important stuff from each other. So Scott had been the first and only one he’d called when he’d met Henry at a Pixies reunion show at Swarthmore College back in May. He’d known that he’d have to come clean with everyone eventually, but he’d wanted to give the relationship more time…to make sure it was something worth sharing with his dad and the pack and to give himself and Henry plenty of breathing space before they were foisted into the politics of intra-pack dynamics.

Stiles had been swaying with his roommates to the opening band, when he’d felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Between the years hanging with werewolves and the basic magic he‘d learned from Deaton, his senses were more finely tuned than mosts’ and his eyes had quickly darted around, hoping that he wasn’t about to star in yet another slasher flick. 

It hadn’t taken him long to find the source of his discomfort, but he had been surprised as hell that instead of a threat, what he’d seen was a pair of big, blue Bambi eyes staring back at him. When their eyes met, Blue-Eyed Hot Guy (hey, don’t judge, he’d had to come up with a name off the cuff), had smiled and Stiles had pretty much been a goner right there.

Henry had known right away that Stiles had pack connections, the fact that he’d been wearing the Sonic Youth shirt Scott had outgrown back in high school (fucking werewolves and their stupid muscles) seemed to have been the first tip off. Apparently, no amount of detergent could wash the smell of wolf out of your clothes.

Henry’s father was the alpha of the Swarthmore pack, with most of its adult members working in some sort of academia. They were a peaceful, quiet family more concerned with social justice and environmental policy than flexing their muscles and wreaking havoc on the idyllic campus, but they were also a very old pack, with their lineage going back centuries to their beginnings in Western Europe. The respect afforded their status meant that it had been a long time since they’d had to defend their territory or concern themselves with having to be overly vigilant. So, when Henry had introduced Stiles to his parents, after some initial concerns, they’d happily welcomed him into their home. 

Stiles had known that once the Beacon Hills pack was involved, there’d actually have to be some kind of formal werewolf summit, but he’d really hoped to avoid it for a little while longer. Like maybe five, ten years or something. And he hated that Derek and everyone else had to learn about Henry now with everything else that was going on. They all needed to focus on finding Jenna’s killer and mourning her loss.

As Derek sat down at the kitchen table, Stiles couldn’t help but think about how Derek appearance and his surroundings seemed somewhat incongruous. The décor was all clean lines and simple, natural shapes, heavy Scandinavian influences punctuated by industrial simplicity. While Derek, well…was Derek, all rough edges and restlessness. He still wore the stubble that on anyone would else would have looked unkempt, the too-tight jeans whose fibers were threatening to split at the knees, and the ubiquitous faded black t-shirt whose days one would have thought were numbered years ago. Seeing Derek Hale sitting there in one of the Bertoia wire chairs that they’d road tripped to San Francisco to pick up was like coming up on a pricker bush in the middle of a Japanese garden.

Stiles was startled out of his reverie when Derek spoke, his voice quiet and husky. “None of this makes any sense, Stiles. Jenna didn’t have a single enemy, everyone loved her, who could have done this to her?”

Plopping down in the seat next to Derek, Stiles put his hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Listen, we’re going to figure this out. I’ll stay as long as you need me and you know my dad’s not gonna rest until whoever killed Jenna is behind bars.”

“Thanks for coming, Stiles. I know you have your own life now and you and your dad would probably be a hell of a lot safer if you stayed clear, but I…we really need you here.”

“Shut it, man. You guys are my family and you know how us Stilinskis roll. We may talk too much and smell a little funny, but we’re loyal fuckers.” 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right…on all three counts.” Derek let his mouth pull into a full-on smile, but it quickly fell, his mind clearly returning to reality. “I haven’t smelled any new wolves in the area and there haven’t been any similar reports anywhere that we’ve been able to track down. Besides, we’re not exactly known for using sniper rifles to take down our enemies. Boyd and Isaac are out patrolling the preserve, hoping to catch a scent of something that can help us.”

“What about Chris Argent? Has he put any feelers out with his hunter contacts?”

Derek shook his head. “He was here this morning, but he hasn’t had any luck either. It’s almost like this was random, just a case of Jenna being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Do you think that’s possible? That this wasn’t related to her being a werewolf?”

“Honestly, no. Someone who’s looking for an opportunity to kill at random isn’t going to sit in the woods and just hope that someone will come along. There has to be another explanation, something we’re missing.” Derek’s voice was growing more agitated.

“We’ll find it, Derek. I’ve already started contacting some of the East Coast packs to see if they’ve heard any chatter. I’ll let you know when I hear back from them. Until then, I’ll track down my dad and see what he has so far.”

“Okay, I guess we‘ll have to wait and see what everyone has so far,” Derek sighed. “So, are you ready to tell me about the wolf, Stiles?”

“Have you eaten, buddy? You need to keep your strength up. I could fix you something or go get you some General Tso’s from Golden Dragon. I could go for some Chinese myself, man.”

When Stiles moved to get up from his chair, Derek reached out to pull him back down. “Stiles. Sit back down and tell me what’s going on with you. Who’s.The.Wolf?” 

“Jesus, Derek, is this really necessary right now? Does it really matter with everything that’s going on?” Stiles pleaded.

Derek‘s grip on his arm tightened as he growled. “Someone just killed my wife, Stiles. I need to make sure that the rest of you are safe, and you show up smelling like another wolf. So, yes, it actually is necessary right now. Answer the fucking question.”

Stiles pulled his arm from Derek’s hand and rubbed absently at the pink finger marks on his forearm. When Derek’s eyes followed the movement, his face fell. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he gasped. “I just…Stiles, I’m fucking scared. I’ve never said those words to anyone in my life, but I am. My wife is dead and I have no idea who did it or why or if they’re going to be coming for the rest of us.”

“Hey, I’m fine. Look…it’s not even gonna bruise. And I get it, Derek. We’re all a little scared, but we’re strongest when we’re together. No one else is gonna get hurt. I promise.” Stiles wanted to cry at the lost look on Derek’s face. The other man had always played his feelings close to the vest, rarely giving anyone a hint at what was going on inside him, so seeing him like this was like a punch to the gut. 

“God, you make me wanna believe that you know that for sure, Stiles,” Derek puffed. “Now tell me why you smell like another wolf. Please.” The last part was so quiet that Stiles wouldn’t have heard it if they hadn’t been sitting so close together.

Stiles let the breath he’d been holding loudly whoosh out. “First, let me start by telling you that he’s a good guy…er, wolf. His alpha is his dad, who’s like an economics professor who teaches courses on public policy at Swarthmore. Oh, and his mom? Yeah, she drives a Prius with a bumper sticker that says, “If You Want Peace, Work for Justice,” and heads the Peace and Conflict Studies department. So, when I say they’re good people/wolves/wolf people, I ain’t just whistlin’ Dixie. They were probably singing ‘Kumbaya‘ and shit back in the day.”

“So is this wolf, the son of an Alpha…Jesus, Stiles…is he your boyfriend?” 

“Dude, you don’t have to look like you’ve swallowed something foul. Yeah, his name is Henry, and I guess you could call him my boyfriend. And, like I said, his dad being an alpha is a non-issue. They’re all totally chill.”  
“Yes, I’m sure they’re ‘totally chill’, but you’re human, Stiles. You are not a threat to them on your own. You aren’t a threat to _Henry_ Do they know about us? Fuck, what am I thinking, of course they know about us. I’m sure Henry’s dad could smell us even if _Henry_ couldn’t.” Derek pushed himself back from the table, scraping the chair on the floor and getting up to pace around the kitchen, his fingers combing through is hair.

“Calm the fuck down, would ya? Yes, they know about you, not anything personal, but they’re honestly not at all concerned. Their line is like centuries long, they’re too established to sweat the small stuff.”

“And how does Hank feel about you coming back to Beacon Hills for an extended period of time? You can’t tell me he’s thrilled about you being here, surrounded by wolves he doesn’t know.” Derek had stopped the pacing and was looking at Stiles like he couldn’t quite believe that Stiles was so obtuse.

“Okay, first, fuck you, you know his name is Henry…you’ve said it enough times, albeit sarcastically, already that it can’t have slipped your mind that fast,” Stiles snapped. “And second. Well. Shit. I’m not entirely sure how Henry feels about it because I haven’t told him yet.” 

Derek laughed, no it was more like guffawed. “What? You didn’t tell your _boyfriend_ that you were flying across the country to be with your pack?”

“It’s really not that big of a deal. I had other things on my mind. He’ll understand.”

“Stiles, call the guy before he notices that you’re gone, please.”

“My phone died on the way here from the airport, so I’ll have to dig my charger out of my bag when I get home. I’ll call him then. Seriously, it’ll be fine. We didn’t have any plans today, so he won’t even know I’m not there until I call him. Why are you so worried about it anyway?”

“I’m not worried about it,” Derek huffed. “I just don’t need some big pack with their fancy bloodlines deciding that we’re in need of an education about proper pack politics.”

“Oh, for shit’s sake, this is exactly why I didn’t tell all of you about this,” Stiles grumped.

“Look, Stiles, regardless of how peace, love and hippychick they are, there is still protocol to follow when members of different packs get involved. When the dust has settled, I want you to arrange a meeting. I’d prefer if Henry could come here, given my situation.” Stiles hated when Derek went all Alpha-Boss on him, even if he couldn‘t help but feel a small thrill that Derek thought he was important enough to warrant all of this.

“Fine. I’ll mention it when I call him later. I’m sure he’d be happy to fly out here with me sometime in the future, he’s never been to California, so we can turn it into a vacation,” Stiles acquiesced.

“Soon.”

“As soon as we’re all feeling up to it, I promise,” Stiles assured him with a smile. “And on that note, since we’re talking about meeting new people and forging alliances, don’t you think it’s time you introduced me to Mason? I think I‘ve waited long enough to get my hands on him.”

And fuck if the look on Derek’s face at the mention of his son didn’t just about send Stiles’ melting into a pile of gross, pathetic goo. And God did he wish more than anything that it didn't.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine it hasn't slipped past you that this fic is un-beta'd. I can't get jazzed about going back and editing once I'm done with a chapter...because I'm going to hate it if I do that and it'll never get posted. I try to find the glaring errors, but I know I miss a lot of them, and, for that, I apologize.
> 
> That being said, I got a little verbose in this one and a good beta probably would have told me to pare it down. I hope you all don't mind a little backstory. Sorry!

_No I won't be told there's a crock of gold at the end of the rainbow_  
Or that pleasure and pain, sunshine and rain might make this love grow  
-ABC "All of My Heart 

 

It wasn’t the first time that Stiles had been upstairs in Derek’s house, but it was actually the first time he’d entered the master bedroom. He’d slept in the Hale house a number of times over the years, but he’d carefully avoided this end of the second floor. At first, it was because he didn’t really need the visual of where Derek undressed, bathed and slept. But then, Derek had met Jenna and Stiles may have had some masochistic tendencies now and again, but even he had to draw a line somewhere.

He desperately tried not to take in too many details around the room. He didn’t want to see the personal items that would only remind of him of what Derek had shared with Jenna, and what he’d ultimately just lost. Stiles place in all of this was as Derek’s friend and pack member, and if he had to swallow his feelings a little bit, he’d damned well suck it up. So, he kept his eyes focused on the sleek, modern crib that occupied the far corner of the room. As he approached, he could see that the baby was sound asleep, his pink bowed lips pursed and his fists peaking out of what looked like the world‘s smallest lime green Snuggie.

“Holy fuck, Derek,” Stiles whispered, keeping his wide eyes on the sleeping infant.

Derek huffed a small laugh. “Always, eloquent, Stilinski.” He walked over and gently placed a big hand on his son’s head and quietly sighed, the smile fading from his face. “What the fuck am I supposed to do now, Stiles?” It startled Stiles to hear the crack in Derek’s voice. “Jesus Christ, do you know I actually had to call Melissa because I had no idea what to feed him? What kind of parent am I going to be if I don’t even know how to meet his basic needs?”

Without even thinking about it, Stiles reached out and put a hand on Derek’s shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “You have the entire pack to help you raise your son, Derek. You know us, we don’t do anything half-assed, man. We’ll be the best extended family the kid could ever want.”

Derek looked up from his son and graced Stiles with one of those smiles that still made his heart beat a little faster and his breath catch. “Did I tell you how much I appreciate you coming? I need this. I need _you_ , Stiles.”

And there it was. What did it say about him, that he was standing in the bedroom of a man whose wife had just been murdered, listening to the soft snores of their infant son, and wanting nothing more than to lead the grieving man over to the big platform bed in the middle of the room and make him beg Stiles to never leave? Stiles could feel the pricks of shame flaming his cheeks and he prayed that Derek was too preoccupied to notice.

“We’re all so focused on finding out who did this to Jenna, in protecting the pack, in exacting revenge, but having you here reminds me of everything that’s still good. You are the bravest of us, some would say stupidly so, but you’re also the one who gets things done, you know? You make me feel…I don’t know…like we’re going to be okay. Is that weird?”

“Nah, man. That’s what I do. Pack human here to remind all of you that there’s more to us than just fangs and claws and scary shit. We have a baby, dude. An actually tiny little…oh shit…wait… _is_ he, can you tell yet?” That was a head trip. He hadn’t even thought about the fact that Mason might not be a werewolf. He knew from the extensive research he’d done when Scott and Allison had first talked about having kids, that even if both parents were weres, there was no guarantee that the gene would be passed to the child, but with both Derek and Jenna having been born wolves, he’d just assumed.

“No way to tell yet. I was almost 10 before we knew for sure that I was, so it looks like we’re in for a long wait.”

Stiles thought for a minute before he spoke. “Would you be okay with it if he’s not? I mean, I know he can ask for the bite when he’s an adult, if that’s the case, but…”

Looking back at his son, Derek shook his head. “If there’s one thing he’s taught me already, it’s that I’m going to love him no matter what.” He paused before adding, “Besides, _you’re_ human and I can stand being around you…sometimes.” 

“Ha. Ha. You’re a riot, Rover.”

“I don’t know, I guess I assumed that since Jenna and I both came from big families, we’d probably end up with a brood of kids, so I didn’t really worry too much about whether or not Mason would be a wolf. But now that it looks like he’ll be my only one, I’m actually okay with whatever he is. Either way, he‘s everything I ever wanted.”

He hated himself for what a punch in the gut it was to hear Derek talk about not having more kids with Jenna gone. He guessed it was kind of like his dad not being able to move on for a really long time after his mom had died, but it still hurt to think about the fact that Jenna had been Derek’s _person_. (Yeah, he’d spent a lot of time curled up with his mom, watching Grey’s when she was sick, and he realized that what Meredith had with Cristina wasn’t a romantic thing, but since he was pretty sure that the idea of “mates” was something more Twilight than reality, _person_ just seemed a better fit.) He knew he could never have been that for Derek, but it still stung, and he was starting to think it always would.

“I’m glad to know that you’re not totally humanphobic, Der. I wouldn’t want to have to bust out the ‘So Your Son’s Not a Wolf’ pamphlets.” 

Stiles realized that they’d probably been talking to loudly when the little bundle in the crib started to whimper, arms and legs shooting out in different directions. Derek reached down to pick him up, but Stiles slid in beside him and tugged on his shirt. “Would it be okay if I picked him up? I’m kinda jealous that everyone else has had a chance to get to know him, I think it’s time he got acquainted with all this awesomeness.”

Nodding, Derek stepped back and watched as Stiles carefully removed the squirming infant from the crib. “Just make sure to support his neck. It’s pretty floppy.”

“Watch the floppy neck. Got it.” Stiles looked down at the round blue eyes that seemed to be searching his face. “Hey buddy, it’s your Uncle Stiles here. What’s up, little man? It’s been a tough couple of days, hasn’t it, but everything’s gonna be juuust fine. Promise.” He couldn’t help himself, so he bent down to put his lips on one of those soft rosy cheeks, but came back up quickly, scrunching his nose and looking over at Derek.

“Um…I’m pretty sure you’ve got a werewolf on your hands here, because he smells like dogshit, dude.” 

“STILES.”

“Oh, shit, did I just say ‘shit’ in front of the baby? Wait…no…fu…oh man, I really suck at this. Sorry.” Looking back at the baby, he repeated another “sorry”. Great, Uncle Stiles was already a big fat failure.

“Stiles, he’s 8 weeks old, you don’t have to apologize, just something to work on, though. Just, cut it with the dog jokes, you buffoon.” Derek reached out to take the baby from Stiles and walked over to the changing table. 

“I’ll try. It won’t be easy, but anything for that little cutie.” 

When Derek had secured Mason to the table and started to remove the baby’s clothing, Stiles decided to make a hasty retreat. “Dude, I’m gonna love the shi…I mean, the _stuff_ out of that kid, but I am so not ready to smell him in all his glory, so I’m gonna head out and go see my dad, if that’s okay. Maybe he‘ll have something for us.”

“No problem. Just give me a call if you hear anything at all.” Derek turned to look at him. “Oh, and Stiles? I meant it when I said that I’m glad you’re here. Thanks again.”

“No problem, man. Where else would I be?”

Derek nodded and turned back to his son.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

 

With limited driveway space a the Stilinski household now that Melissa’s Honda got pride of place, he’d taken to storing the Jeep at Derek’s, so he said his goodbyes to Scott, Allison and Erica and headed out in search of his dad. After a quick phone call to find out if his dad was still out in the field, Stiles pulled up in front of the station and experienced the usual déjà vu. How many times had he come here, hoping for information on a case? Trying to convince his dad that he just wanted to help? He hoped that his dad would be as forthcoming as possible, given the situation, but Stiles still sometimes felt like that curious pain in his dad’s ass he‘d been as a kid.

Marty, the front desk officer, looked up from her paperwork and gave him a sad smile. “Hey kiddo! Long time no see. We’re all really sorry to hear about your friend. Your dad’s expecting you, head on back.”

“Thanks, Marty. Be sure to tell Mr. Marty I said ‘hi’,” Stiles answered as he pushed through the swinging half-door toward his dad’s office.

The door wasn’t closed and he could see his dad sitting at his desk, staring intently at a fan of photographs. He wondered if they were of Jenna and, for the first time, felt absolutely no compulsion to look at crime-scene photos. 

“Hey dad, find anything?” Stiles flopped down in the chair opposite his dad.

“Not yet, but get your ass out of that chair and come over here and hug your old man.” Stiles was almost embarrassed by how hugging his dad made him feel like home and warmth and safety, even at nearly 23 years old. But, honestly, there was something about John Stilinski that made everyone feel just a little bit better than they had before he showed up. And his hugs were kind of legendary…firm and tight, with just the hint of a back rub thrown in. Scott had been known to willy-nilly flash the pathetic puppy dog eyes around the sheriff just to get him one of them. The sheriff had always been a sucker for the downtrodden and no one could pull that off quite like Scott.

Stepping out his father’s arms to glance across his desk, eyes carefully avoiding the photos, he asked, “If you had to guess, and I know you hate to do that, but do you think this was about the werewolf thing or do you think it could have been something else?”

John blanched and rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “It’s the damnedest thing, kid. If it weren’t for her genetics, I’d be apt to think we had a random shooter on our hands.” He picked up a page out of the crime scene report and handed it to Stiles. “There is absolutely no indication that she was specifically targeted and nothing at all left at the crime scene to indicate that the shooter approached her body afterward.”

“But there haven’t been any similar shootings, right? Something that would indicate a serial sniper or something?”

“I’ve had Danny cross-checking any and all shootings in the last 2 years, within a 500 mile radius and we haven’t come up with a single similarity.” John stopped to look back up at his son. “By the way, have you seen him yet? He’s down the hall in the back office, I know he’d appreciate it if you popped your head in.”

Stiles and Danny had an initially complicated thing that had started back in the early summer after their freshman year in college. At first, Stiles had been so chuffed to find out that he _was_ actually attractive to gay guys and flattered that he was particularly attractive to that specific gay guy (hey, everyone loved Danny), that he hadn’t been entirely careful of Danny’s feelings. They’d hooked up for the first time out by Lydia’s pool after one of her infamous Mai Tai driven luaus, trading blow jobs and rutting against each other until they’d both come…twice. Afterward, Stiles’ face had nearly split in two with what some, only the most judgemental types, may have called smugness. Even though he’d had a slightly drunken one night stand that past Fall, it had been a heady feeling to finally be wanted by someone who actually knew him, especially after years of pining for two people who only tolerated him at best. Unfortunately, Danny was not one of those people and Stiles forgot that for a while. He let himself continue to “hook up” with Danny, the two of them sneaking away at every opportunity to share filthy, spit soaked kisses and sloppy hand jobs. 

Surprisingly, it was Jackson who’d been the one to confront Stiles. He’d shown up at Stiles’ door one Saturday afternoon and demanded to know “what the fuck Stiles thought he was doing with Danny”. Apparently, Danny and Jackson had been out the night before and Danny had turned down every “hot fucking guy” who’d hit on him, something Stiles could only assume was unusual, given Jackson‘s irrational reaction.

Stiles had stared at him gob smacked for a few seconds, and opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Jackson nearly spitting out, “Do you think I don’t see the way you look at Derek, Stilinski? Jesus, if the guy looked at you just right, you’d be on your knees for him in a heartbeat.” 

The words had hit him like a runaway bus. No one had ever said anything, he’d hoped that he’d been able his feelings about Derek in check. “I don’t. I didn’t. You know what? Go fuck yourself.” He’d slammed the door in Jackson’s face, grateful that his father’s patrol car was in the driveway so Jackson wouldn’t kick through the door in some kind of were-rage.

He’d been left with two very real problems. One, he and Danny had needed to talk. And two, he’d apparently not been as discreet as he had hoped about his feelings for the broody wolf king.

The second problem, he’d decided to ignore entirely. Don’t ask, don’t tell. They’d all be better off for it. Scott had known since Junior year that Stiles’ had a crush on the grumpy fucker, and since no one else had said anything, he was just going to pretend that the rest of them, sans Jackson, were blissfully ignorant. He’d known Jackson well enough to know that if he hadn’t mentioned it to everyone by that point, he probably wouldn’t at all. 

Jackson may have reverted back to his inner Neanderthal on Stiles‘ porch, but those incidents had become few and far between. His parents had taken him to Belgium after his miraculous return from the dead (ostensibly buying the story that Gerard Argent had been supplying him with the steroids that had stopped his heart), his father accepting a job offer at a firm there. He’d returned to Beacon Hills, and to no one’s surprise, Lydia, after high school graduation, and had requested entrance into the pack. Derek had kept tabs on him with an Alpha in Brussels and it had seemed that Jackson’s extended vacation had been good for him, so he‘d been welcomed back with open arms. So, Stiles had given Jackson’s display a free-pass, since it was likely just his loyalty to Danny that had brought the wolf trying to blow his house down.

But despite Stiles’ abject fear of approaching the subject with Danny, they’d actually had a really good talk about things and had agreed that neither thought that they were destined to “co-star in a big gay love story”, but that what they were doing at the time seemed to be working out for them pretty well, so they would continue until they had to go back to their respective colleges. They’d agreed that they’d be exclusive for the remainder of the summer, but, since Stiles would be on the East coast and Danny was heading back to Stanford, they’d enjoy the time they had and be free to see other people once school started again. And, he’d been right about Jackson. Danny had given the guy a talking to and he’d never said another word about it to Stiles.

The arrangement had worked pretty well for them, and they’d extended it to the various breaks they’d had when they’d both been back in Beacon Hills. Despite each having a few short relationships, they both always seemed to be unattached when they met up again and they immediately fell back into their comfortable relationship. Danny had been the first guy Stiles had actually had sex with and, while they hadn’t been in love, they were in like enough that neither of them felt compelled to end their arrangement. That was until that past Christmas when Danny had called Stiles, who’d been sitting at the Philadelphia Airport, waiting to catch his plane home. Danny had found someone he wanted to be exclusive with and he’d hoped that Stiles understood.

He’d openly admit to having been a little disappointed. Danny was a great guy, hot as hell and the sex was pretty fantastic. But, he’d always known that it wouldn’t last forever. They loved each other in their own way after spending so much time together, but they’d never been _in love_ with each other. When Stiles had asked who the lucky guy was, Danny had cryptically told him that he’d find out when he got home and Stiles had teased him that he’d actually brought the guy home to meet the back…that it must be serious.

As it turned out, it hadn’t been necessary for Danny to introduce his new guy, as it was Isaac who’d had his arm tucked snugly around Danny’s waist when they’d picked him up from the airport. It hadn’t been a surprise that Isaac was into other guys, Stiles had always wondered if Isaac’s loyalty toward Scott had been something more than a pack thing, but he had still been a little bit shocked to see them together.

It was Isaac who’d spoken up first. “Okay, don’t be mad, but when you didn’t come home over Thanksgiving, Danny and I ended up spending time together and it just…happened.” Then he’d looked at Stiles with that fucking face, the one that ensured that no one would ever deny him anything (how that monster had been able to look at that face and raise a hand to him, Stiles had never been able to fathom). “Oh God, you hate me now, don’t you? I’m sorry, Stiles, I really am, I never meant to…”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now? Hate you? How could I hate you when I’m looking at the goofy smile on that dimpled son-of-a-bitch next to you?” He’d stepped up and pulled them both into hug. “Yeah, you both suck a little…pun intended…and I’m probably going to go home and pour a glass of my dad’s scotch and cry a little about how I won’t be getting any on this trip, but I’m really fucking happy for the both of you. Seriously.”

And he hadn’t been lying, not really. He’d figured that one or the other of them would eventually find someone worth being faithful to, but he’d kind of hoped he’d been the first one. And, he really had been looking forward to the sex. Merry Christmas, Stiles.

“Stiles, did you hear me? Go say ‘hi’ to your friend. You know, he still worries that the two of you aren’t as close as you used to be. I know you, of all people, don’t begrudge him and Isaac happiness, but it’s still awkward for him, kid.” Stiles knew how lucky he was to have his dad and he was a little more than proud that the sheriff had taken to being something of a pack dad in the past few years. 

Everyone could use a little more Papa Stilinski in their lives.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

After having a quick dinner with his dad and Danny at the diner across the street from the station, Stiles decided to head back to his dad and Melissa’s (he knew it was still his home as well, but he’d started to feel like a visitor after a couple of years away). 

“Hey honey, it’s good to see you.” Likely hearing the Jeep’s rumbling engine pull up in front of the house, Melissa met him at the door and pulled him into a hug. “Did you stop and see your dad?” 

Stiles nodded and while he took a minute to sink into the arms of the woman who’d been a second mom to him for as long as he could remember. It really was good to be back, regardless of the circumstances, and he silently chastised himself for not making more of an effort to visit.

“Yeah, we just grabbed some dinner, actually.”

“I take it you saw Derek earlier?” Melissa grabbed one of the bags from his hands and led him into the house. “How’s he doing? How’s the baby?”

Flopping down on the sofa in the living room, Stiles sighed and rubbed his hands through his hair. “Derek’s having a rough time, I feel so bad for the guy.” When Melissa sat down in the recliner opposite him, he leaned forward. “And that kid, Jesus, I can’t imagine how hard it’s going to be on them.”

“Oh, honey, I think you do. You know better than anyone what it’s like to lose a mom.” 

“It’s not just that, though, it’s…I watched how Dad just fell apart after Mom died…no offense meant Mel, cause you know you’re the best thing that’s happened to him in a long time. But, I feel terrible that Derek’s having to go through the same thing.” Stiles could feel his eyes filling despite how hard he was fighting to stop them. “He really is a good guy and he doesn’t deserve this.”

“Sweetie, what your mom and dad had was incredibly special. Honestly, they had what most people can only hope to find once in a lifetime and I consider myself so lucky to get to have _my_ once in a lifetime with him as well.” Melissa got up from her chair and dropped down beside Stiles on the sofa. “And I know that Jenna and Derek probably loved each other in their own way, but that marriage was not all it was cracked up to be.”

Stiles took a minute to try to process what Melissa was saying, completely dumbfounded. “What are you saying? I was at the wedding and they both looked pretty happy…and they’d always seemed happy since then. Heck, they just had a baby.”

“Stiles, people sometimes get married for any number of reasons, and not all of them have anything to do with the kind of love most of us think about in relation to marriage. And I’m not saying that there’s anything wrong with that, as long as both parties go into it wanting the same thing.” 

Stiles didn’t really know how to respond to that, he felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. 

Clearly noticing Stiles‘ confoundment, Melissa quickly added, “Look, let’s just leave it at that. It’s honestly not my intention to gossip or speak ill of the dead. I’m sorry I said anything.”

“No, it’s okay, I’m just confused, that’s all. I guess I just assumed that Derek had found the love of his life when he married Jenna. It just never occurred to me…”

Melissa took one of Stiles‘ hands in her own. “I think that Derek very much found something he was looking for when he married Jenna, Stiles, but it wasn’t the love of his life, that much I’m sure of,” she whispered.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a shorter chapter...a set-up of what's coming and it just didn't work to continue the action. Un-beta'd as always. Apologies.

_Remembering  
Surrendering  
Remembering that part  
All of my heart   
-ABC "All of my Heart"_

Once Stiles had thrown his bags onto the bed in his old room, he pulled out his phone and plugged it in to the charger. He really wanted to hear Henry’s voice, but, after the conversation he’d had with Melissa about Derek and Jenna, he knew he needed some time to get his head together. Despite the fact that they were miles apart, Henry was a born werewolf, had always been surrounding by a tight knit pack, and his powers of discernment were pretty spot-on. The last thing he needed was for Henry to sense his inner turmoil and start asking questions Stiles wasn’t ready to answer.

They’d made the decision to be exclusive a few weeks after they’d first met, but their relationship was fairly new and Stiles wasn’t sure how much he wanted to tell Henry about the pack, about Derek, at least just yet. They’d talked in pretty broad terms and Henry knew the basics, but he’d also understood the importance of some measure of discretion when it came to pack information. If Stiles felt guilty about having dual purposes in keeping Henry in the dark about the details of the pack, he told himself that it was for the best. Stiles had known for years that Derek would never be able to give him what he wanted, and he saw this new relationship as a chance to make some new plans for the future.

So, he puttered around his room for a while, put his clothes into his old dresser, thumbed through some of the books he‘d left behind and debated whether or not to open up his laptop. He wanted to do some research of his own to see if there was anything Danny or his dad could have missed, but he was feeling too high-strung to sit still for too long. 

He decided, instead to hop in the shower. He needed to ease some of the tension that was humming through his body and he hoped that twenty minutes of hot water pulsating over him would do the trick. What he hadn’t counted on, foolishly, was the fact that, in the shower, his mind would have nothing to focus on, nothing to keep him from thinking about everything that had happened that day.

Seeing Derek always brought his suppressed feelings flooding back and this occasion was no different. Regardless of how incredibly inappropriate Stiles knew it was, he couldn’t help but think about beautiful, but broken, Derek looked, how happy he had seemed to see him and how much he obviously loved his son. Stiles wasn’t typically a huge sucker for a guy with a kid…hello, he’s 22, kids were not even in his orbit…but Derek with a kid was something to behold. The way he cradled the baby’s head, gently running his thumb through the fine black hair, how his eyes just freaking melted when he was looking at him. 

And, fuck, there was the other side effect of being alone in a steamy shower. Stiles hadn’t let himself jerk-off to images of Derek in a long time, hell, he hadn’t even let himself do it to even close approximations of Derek. He knew that road only led to heartbreak and shame and he’d already traveled that route and didn’t want to visit again, thank you very much. Now, he just needed to remind his dick that what it was asking for would only bring despair and not just a little humiliation. And what kind of guy thinks about someone else when he has a perfectly perfect boyfriend, a hot perfectly perfect boyfriend? For that matter, what kind of guy beats off to the image of his friend who just lost his wife? If there was a Hell, Stiles was pretty sure he was fast tracked .

He reached down and took a hold of himself, trying to think about Henry, about how good it felt when his long, thin fingers wrapped around Stiles, how much he loved it when Henry nibbled at his neck as he pulled, how he’d murmur sweet encouragement in Stiles’ ear as he came, but his traitorous mind just kept going back to Derek. How it would feel if it were Derek’s hand on him, Derek sinking his teeth into his neck, Derek whispering filthy things in his ear.

It was too much, and before he could put a stop to it, he had coated his fingers and splattered the tile in front of him. Turning back into the spray, Stiles felt the shame of what he’d just done wash over him, tears pricking the corners of eyes. He’d worked so hard to maintain a safe emotional distance from Derek, to be the kind of pack member they all needed, not someone whose only contribution was pathetic angst. But, here he was, back in Beacon Hills, back among the pack, not even one day in, and he could feel his control slipping.

 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

Stiles waited for what he felt was a respectable amount of time before he called Henry. He knew it was kind of ridiculous that he felt like his Derek inspired jerk-off was like cheating, but Stiles was a loyal guy, it was something he took pride in, and he hated that he felt like he’d broken Henry’s trust. 

When he turned on his phone, he saw that he had three missed calls and five texts from Henry. He didn’t bother listening to the voicemails, but the texts were different variations of “are you ok?”.

Henry answered on the second ring, concern threading his voice, “Hey babe, where are you? I dropped by your apartment to surprise you a while ago and your roommates had no idea where you were.”

“Fuck, Henry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t expect to see you today, so I thought I’d be able to let you know what was going on before you had time to worry.” Stiles felt like even more of a heel. He’d been so focused on Derek and the pack that he’d been really oblivious to how Henry would feel, finding out so long after the fact. “Listen, I’m in Beacon Hills…it was a last-minute thing. One of my friends, I think I’ve mentioned her…Jenna…was killed and Scott came to get me to bring me home.”

“Oh my God, Stiles, I’m so sorry. Jenna? She was part of the Beacon Hills pack, right? The alpha’s wife?”

Stiles felt a ripple of guilt at the mention of Derek. “Yeah, she was Derek’s wife. Someone shot her, a sniper. They hit her heart, she was gone before anyone found her.”

“What can I do, babe? Hey, I’m gonna call my dad and tell him I need to fly out to you. I don’t want you going through this alone.” A litany of “no, no, no, no” ran through Stiles’ head, but he didn’t know how to stop him.

“I’m okay, I promise. I don’t want you to take the time off from work and, besides, we haven’t even really talked about how to deal with the whole pack politics thing. You shouldn’t have to come here unprepared like that.”

Henry snapped, “Fuck pack politics, Stiles!” Then Stiles could hear him breathe heavily through his nose in an effort to calm down, before he continued. “I’m coming to Beacon Hills and I’m going to be by your side through this whole thing. And as far as my job goes, I won‘t be gone that long, they can get by without me for a few days. We‘ll fly back here together when the services are over.”

“Henry, look…”

“Not another word, Stiles. I’m coming out there and that’s that.” Henry stated firmly, in a tone Stiles felt allowed no argument. “I’m going to make arrangements now, and I’ll text you when I know my flight details. Pick me up from the airport?”

His stomach sinking, Stiles had no choice but to agree. “Of course. Just let me know as soon as you can and I’ll make sure I’m free.”

“I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Okay”

When he heard Henry end the call, Stiles threw his phone onto his desk and sank down to sit on the edge of his bed. He hadn’t been prepared for the direction the conversation had taken and he didn’t know what to do about it. He hadn’t even had a chance to tell Henry that he didn’t think he’d be leaving Beacon Hills any time soon, that he was needed here, at least for a while. They hadn’t really talked much about Stiles’ place in the pack, Stiles allowing Henry to believe that he was a peripheral member, mostly because of his friendship with Scott. But, that wasn’t really true, he doesn’t think it ever had been. 

And, oh fuck, Henry was coming here, coming to Beacon Hills. He was bringing his werewolf boyfriend to meet the pack. To meet Derek.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the wait. Life was a bit of an ass to me this past week, but all's well once again.

It was Boyd who met them on the front walkway, his nose flared, clearly in response to the scent of an unknown werewolf. “Are you out of your fucking mind, Stilinski?”

“It’s okay, man. Derek knows we’re coming.” Stiles tried not to shiver under the beta’s scrutiny. Boyd was probably the one member of the pack that Stiles was the least close to, not by choice on Stiles’ part, but because Boyd was simply the toughest nut to crack. He had been stoic in the face of the hundreds of overtures Stiles had made to get him to loosen up, but his seeming indifference had always just made Stiles try that much harder. In theory, he knew that Boyd regarded him as a member of the pack and that he could count on Boyd’s loyalty under almost any circumstances, that Boyd’s quiet contemplation provided a much-needed stability that they all needed. But, for the first time in years, Boyd was looking at him like he couldn’t quite trust him, and that kind of hurt.

Stiles could feel Henry’s grip tighten on his shoulder, could sense that he was fighting the urge to confront the other wolf, and he raised his hand to cover Henry’s, in the hopes that it would provide some calming reassurance. He’d hoped to have had more time to prepare everyone for this meeting, to have a plan in place, at least in his head, for how to make the introductions. He’d actually thought that a more formal setting might be advantageous, for them all to meet in a neutral place where they could observe the proper werewolf protocol (yup, there was actually protocol involved in these things) without anyone feeling threatened over territory issues.

“C’mon, Boyd. You know I wouldn’t be stupid enough to pull anything right now. Seriously, Derek’s the one who invited us over.” Stiles understood that everyone was under a lot of pressure right now and tried to make his voice as soothing as possible.

But, then, Boyd cocked his head toward the house and a few seconds later said, “Yeah, okay, I apologize. It’s just been…”.

“No worries, man. Boyd, this is Henry, my…uh…”

“I’m Stiles’ boyfriend…Boyd, is it?” Under normal, well…human, circumstances, Stiles would have expected there to be the typical shaking of hands, but werewolves without an alpha to intervene, so the two men simply nodded in greeting, eyes never losing contact. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Stiles hasn’t been very forthcoming about your pack, which is understandable given the circumstances, but he has told me a bit about each of you and I’m looking forward to getting to know everyone.”

Despite the fact that his nerves were jangling, Stiles couldn’t help by privately preen a bit over how mature and composed Henry was, even in a situation fraught with tension. 

“Nice to meet you as well. Derek is upstairs putting the baby down for a nap. We can sit on the patio and wait for him.” 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“I feel blindsided and I don’t like it, Stiles. Explain. Please.”

Truth be told, he’d known this conversation would be coming as soon as Henry had told him he’d be coming to Beacon Hills. The problem was that he wasn’t 100% sure if there was one particularly problem or if it was a host of them. There was a lot that Stiles hadn’t told Henry, and it wasn’t all just what he liked to call the “supa seecrit pack stuff”. 

“What exactly would you like explained, Henry?” Stiles didn’t even bother to start making excuses. 

“For starters, how about Derek? You’ve always painted him as the brooding, aloof alpha, someone untouchable and separate from the rest of the pack. I have to tell you, Stiles, that’s not the man I just met.” 

Henry was right, of course. Stiles had chosen to describe him as the Derek he’d met when he was 16, the angry, damaged, desperately alone werewolf with no idea how to lead a pack. He’d changed a lot in the intervening years, learning to trust and becoming a better alpha. It wasn’t often that Derek talked about his life before the fire, but it was obvious that he aspired to be the kind of leader his mother had been. He’d admitted that he’d never be quite the gentle alpha that she’d been, but he’d made inroads into becoming an alpha that instilled respect, not fear, in order to lead. He’d made enough mistakes in the beginning and he’d worked very hard to right them.

Derek was still Derek. He sometimes needed space to be alone, to mourn all of his losses, to brood away from the worried eyes and quiet whimpering of his pack. His fuse could still be short, he was easy to anger and lashed out without thinking. But, he’d learned to apologize, to admit when he was wrong and make it right. The problem was, when Stiles thought about how much Derek had changed, how hard he’d worked to form a cohesive pack, it made him feel things he had no right to feel. And, he hadn’t been sure that he could hide that from Henry, so he’d given him the Derek 1.0 version, the one that was a little buggy and needed a lot of work. That had probably been a mistake, if Henry’s face was any indication.

“And please tell me why you’ve always made it sound like you were some hanger-on, Stiles. Like you weren’t an integral part of the pack.” Stiles could hear Henry’s voice becoming more agitated. “What I saw today indicated anything but.”

Stiles supposed it had been obvious right from the start that things weren’t going to go his way. Derek had immediately played the part of alpha, Stiles’ alpha, to be exact. 

“You must be Henry. I’m Derek Hale, alpha of the Beacon Hills territory.” Derek had said as soon as he’d approached the patio, his hand outstretched. 

Henry stood up from his seat and shook Derek‘s hand. “Alpha Hale, on behalf of myself and my pack, please accept our condolences on the death of your wife. And my personal gratitude for welcoming me to your home.” 

“Thank you. Please sit down.“ Derek took the seat at the head of rectangular wrought iron table. “Stiles tells me your father is Dr. Andrew Reynolds, alpha of the Swarthmore pack.”

Stiles had bristled, he hadn’t mentioned Henry’s dad’s name to Derek. Had Derek known exactly who Stiles had been talking about all along? And if so, why hadn’t he mentioned it?

“Yes, that’s my father. I didn’t realize you knew of us.” Henry had replied, clearly as taken aback as Stiles. “I feel a bit at a disadvantage, as I know nothing of your pack.”

Ouch. Stiles hadn’t been certain at that point, but he’d been beginning to feel like he was about to get in the middle of a werewolf pissing contest.

“We are a small pack, so I’m not surprised that you wouldn’t know of us. But, my mother, Alpha Talia Hale, instilled in us the need to study our history and to be aware of the larger North American packs. The Swarthmore pack is one of the oldest in the US, with a reputation that is above reproach.” Derek had paused, then turned his eyes to Stiles while he continued. “As you can imagine, as Stiles’ alpha, it is difficult for me to have him such a great distance away, so knowing that he has the protection of your pack while he is there gives me peace of mind.”

And that had been when Stiles had known he’d made a grave tactical error in minimizing his position to Henry. Derek had just about declared ownership, a point that Stiles would certainly over think later, because _what the fuck?_ , when he wasn’t completely focused on the way the scene was unraveling in front of him.

“I can assure you, may I call you Derek? Stiles is, and will continue to be, safe with me.” Henry had replied as he slid an arm around Stiles’ shoulders. “I would never let anything happen to him, and I assure that my pack feels the same way.”

No one could have missed the flair of Derek’s nostrils, but his tone had remained nothing less than civil. “And I am grateful that Stiles has your additional protection during his stay on the East Coast. The safety of my pack is of the utmost importance to me, and, as Stiles may have mentioned, we have an alliance with a pack in West Philadelphia who have offered a haven for Stiles, should he need one.”

The conversation had continued in much the same vein, not-so-thinly veiled declarations and all, with Stiles and Boyd watching the back and forth like a particularly volatile tennis match. There hadn’t been anything openly hostile in the exchange, but Stiles had gotten the distinct impression that Derek and Henry were unlikely to become anything remotely resembling friends. Stiles had been relieved when he’d eventually had to remind Henry that they were meeting his father at the station for lunch.

So, now they were in the Jeep, Stiles struggling with how to explain his reasons for leaving so much out. He’d known he couldn’t lie to Henry, so really he’d just omitted the truth a bit, but clearly that line of reasoning wouldn’t make Henry feel any better. 

“I’m sorry. I guess I just thought that the less you knew about the pack, the safer everyone was.” Stiles had finally blurted out. He wasn‘t lying, that really had been a concern for him. The safety of the pack had always been a priority, even if it wasn‘t the only one. “I don’t think you understand how much shit we’ve been through over the years. Beacon Hills isn’t like Swarthmore, Henry. We’re not an a large, established pack living in a tranquil college town. Our territory never feels completely safe.”

“ _Our_ territory, Stiles? Because that’s another problem I’m having right now. Not only did you make me believe that Derek was less than he is, but you also made me believe that, outside of your friendship with Scott, you were just pack-adjacent or something.” Henry turned in his seat to look directly at Stiles. “What I saw back there was not the way an alpha treats some superfluous member. You’re important to Derek, far more so than you’ve ever let on.”

Stiles pulled the Jeep over and was surprised to see Henry’s eyes flash for the first time. “Look, I’m sorry if you feel like I wasn’t honest with you. But, the pack is not my story to tell, you have to at least understand that much.”

“I get that, you know I do, Stiles, but this feels like something else. You’re saying all of the right things and I know you’re not lying to me, but I still think you’re not being completely honest.” 

Stiles didn’t know how to respond to that. There were still too many complications, not the least of which were Stiles’ feelings for Derek, and to say much more would run the risk of exposing them unnecessarily. He was straddling the line between the truth and deceit as it was, and he knew that he needed to choose his words carefully.

“I’m sorry, Henry, I really am. I’m just caught between a rock and a hard place right now.” Stiles tried explain without outright subterfuge. “I don’t have any expertise in the way two packs interact under the circumstances, so I just thought it’d be easier if the two packs remained separate for as long as possible.” He reached over and threaded the fingers of his right hand through Henry’s left. 

Henry gently squeezed his hand and sighed. “I just assumed that you were free, Stiles. I thought that, if things continued the way they were going, that you’d just assimilate into my pack. Fuck, I was actually grateful that you knew how a pack worked, I thought that would be an asset. But, now, seeing the way Derek is with you, I’m not so sure.”

“Listen, we’ll work it out, I promise. Whatever you and I decide down the line, I know that Derek will want me to be happy. I know he came off a little Alpha-Douche today, but he really does put everyone’s needs before his own.” Stiles smiled, hoping it would help alleviate some of the tension. “I’m sure there’s some way we can make it work, right?”

Henry hesitated before leaning forward and kissing Stiles softly on the lips. “We’ll figure something out, now let’s go meet your dad.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The sheriff had been surprised when Stiles had announced Henry’s impending arrival the night before. Aside from Danny, the sheriff had never met any of the people Stiles had dated, so this was a whole new world for the both of them. And once Stiles had shared the fact that Henry was also a werewolf, his dad had immediately voiced a number of concerns, not the least of which was, “And what about the thing you’ve been pretending doesn’t exist between you and Derek, son?”, to which Stiles had a replied an unconvincing, “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Dad.”.

Stiles had known that his dad’s years of investigating had honed his observational skills to a truly frighteningly level and that very little escaped him, but he’d never been ready to talk to him about his pathetic crush on Derek and he certainly hadn’t intended to start at that point. What Stiles felt for Derek was a non-issue. It was an ill-advised, unrequited infatuation and that’s all it could ever be, so there was simply nothing to discuss. It was like crushing on a celebrity, sure you drooled over photos in magazines, followed their tweets and maybe fantasized about them every now and again, but you always understood that it was a fantasy, that there was no future in it. Except in this case, the celebrity lives in your hometown, is friends with your friends, and once, in a wolfs bane-induced intoxication, told you that he “loves you like a brother”. So, yeah, epic fail.

In any case, once Stiles had pointed out that Derek had just lost his wife, the mother of his son, his dad had quickly dropped the subject entirely and had assured Stiles that he was looking forward to meeting “your young man”. And, so, it came as a bit of a shock when his dad didn‘t seem to immediately take to Henry. 

Stiles supposed that anyone who didn’t know the sheriff well would likely not have picked up on the subtle distaste that settled over him, as he wasn’t outwardly hostile or even noticeably stiff. But Stiles knew his dad, knew how he typically looked to take everyone in Stiles’ life under his wing (even Derek, who he didn‘t quite trust in the beginning, was told in no uncertain terms that, he wasn’t “alone anymore, son”). His father quickly turned everyone he met into “family” if they let him, and while his dad was a well-known ball buster among the pack, not a single one of them could ever question the fondness for them that permeated every exchange.

Sure, with Henry, his dad had said all of the right things and was as cordial as he could have asked for, but everything he said just lacked the warmth he usually afforded Stiles’ friends. Stiles didn’t think Henry noticed that anything was amiss, his dad hadn’t been insincere in their interactions and had jokingly played the whole “I’m the sheriff and I know how to use that to my advantage” thing, but there just hadn’t been the easy camaraderie in his tone that Stiles had grown accustomed to. 

It was odd because Henry couldn’t have been more charming and humble. He’d been everything Stiles could have asked for in a boyfriend meeting his dad for the first time. And Stiles was grateful as hell that Henry didn’t pick up on his dad’s lack of enthusiasm. With everything that had gone down at Derek’s, the last thing he needed was more drama between them.

He and Henry had spent the rest of the day together, Stiles showing Henry all of the Beacon Hills landmarks (okay, so his favorite diner, comic book shop, arcade, bakery, and the gas station with the best hot dogs) and getting Henry settled in to his hotel room. Of course, by settled in, he meant happily letting Henry fuck him senseless into the hotel mattress. The early part of their day may have been a bit of a shit show, but once they’d left the police station, it hadn’t taken long for their typical easy intimacy to return and Stiles had been very on board with getting to the sex-filled portion of Henry’s visit. It felt good to be physically close to someone, especially when everything around him was such a sad mess. If a part of him felt guilty for finding that pleasure, he quickly pushed it to the back of his mind.

It wasn’t until he'd left the hotel and gotten into his Jeep that he noticed that he had two texts.

_**Pops:** Son, we need to talk.  
7:34 pm_

_**Derek:** Stiles, we need to talk.  
8:14 pm_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who is taking the time to read this. And, as if that weren't enough, some of you are even commenting and leaving kudos, and I couldn't be more grateful!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dang it. So much was supposed to happen in this chapter, but instead, I wrote over 2300 words of Stilinski bonding. Why did I let them hijack this thing? I promise more action in the next couple of chapters, if I can just get those two to shut up already. I kid...there will be definite Stiles/Derek interfacing in the next installment.

He’d decided to call his dad first, his deepest wish being that he had something new to report about the investigation. While it was true that he had very little desire to discuss Henry with his dad, given the chilly reaction they’d gotten earlier, regardless of all of the personal drama of the day, when it came down to it, finding Jenna’s killer had to be the priority. So he really wasn’t being completely mercenary. He wasn’t. 

However, if there was one thing he’d learned in his 24 years, is that the universe could be an unkind bitch, so he wasn’t placing too much hope in the conversation going his way. But there was always the possibility. And if a man doesn’t have at least a little bit of hope, what does he have left, right?

When pulled onto his street, he could see his dad’s cruiser in the driveway and he wasn’t entirely sure if he preferred a face-to-face talk or if it would have been easier over the phone. His dad had a dirty stinking habit of being able to read him like a book and, if the topic of discussion was going to be his personal life, he knew he was probably fucked. On the other hand, if, in fact, they were going to talk about Jenna’s murder, the comfort of his dad’s presence would probably be soothingly welcome, because with everything else going on, he still felt a sharp stab of grief and a wash of fear come over him every time he thought about the reason for his visit. The truth was, he’d lost someone he cared about, all of his friends were grieving, and there was at least a moderate probability that they were all in danger somehow, given the circumstances.

His father was sitting at the kitchen table, a glass of scotch in his hand, looking grim and exhausted, when Stiles went into the house.

“Hey, Dad? Are you okay?” Stiles asked, pulling up a chair next to him and reaching out to squeeze his shoulder.

“Stiles, Danny got a hit on an arrest about 80 miles from here. Guy was pulled over for a broken tail light…they found a Barrett in his trunk. They’re testing now to see if it’s a match, and my gut tells me that it will be.” His dad looked down at his tumbler and looked back up at Stiles and sighed. “Not that it’s going to matter much, the guy’s dead. Hung himself in his cell.”

Stiles let out the breath he’d been holding. “Shit. What the hell’s going on, dad?”

“If I had to guess, based on the little bit of evidence we have, I’d say he was a gun for hire. Plates were stolen in Arizona two weeks ago, license was fake, fingerprints didn’t turn up a single thing. They’re waiting on a DNA sample to see if there are any hits, but I’m not hopeful, son.” It looked for all the world that it physically pained the sheriff to say so. 

“So you think someone _hired_ this dude to kill Jenna? But why?” Stiles asked.

“If I knew the answer to that, I’d probably sleep a hell of a lot better tonight.” His dad took a long drink and slammed the empty glass on the table. “Jenna doesn’t fit any kind of victim profile, even given her supernatural capabilities. Her entire pack was decimated by hunters three years ago and Derek‘s been keeping his nose clean for a long time, so werewolf politics don’t seem likely here. On top of that, unless I’m missing something, she didn’t have any involvements that would have made her a target for humans either.”

“What about hunters? Is it possible that the guy had some connection to them?” Stiles asked. 

“Not likely. The whole thing doesn’t look like any hunter activity I’ve ever seen. And you know how much they love to do their own dirty work, so they wouldn’t have hired an outsider.” The sheriff ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “I’m stumped, son. I’m sorry.”

“Have you told Derek any of this yet?”

“I paid him an unofficial visit a couple of hours ago.”

“How was he?” Stiles knew how difficult it was for Derek to no have control of a situation and he couldn’t imagine how all of this must be tearing him up.

“You know him, he plays everything pretty close to the vest.” John answered, reaching out to pour himself another finger of Scotch. “He’s angry as hell, that much I can see, but I don’t know that he’s dealing with how he’s actually feeling about Jenna’s death. He won‘t talk to me about it.” 

Stiles felt the familiar prick of tears and quickly turned away in an effort to hide them from his father. “You know better than anyone what it feels like to lose the woman you love, Dad, and for a really long time, it was too hard for you to talk about it. Maybe he just needs time.”

“You’re right, son, your mother’s death nearly ruined me. You were the only thing that got me through it.” His father whispered.

“Just like Derek has Mason.” Stiles answered softly, the crack in his voice giving him away.

“Stiles.” The sheriff reached out to turn his son’s face toward him. “What’s going on? Is this about more than what happened to Jenna?”

Stiles tried his best to look as if his father’s words were unexpected, like he was confused by the insinuation. “What? No. I mean, I don’t know what you mean, Dad?”

“Son, barring the whole werewolf thing…because, how in the hell could I have guessed, you know, werewolves…you’ve always been absolute ass at lying to me.” His dad said, doing that thing with his eyes that made it nearly impossible for Stiles to look away. “So, spill. What is it?”

Suddenly, Stiles felt the dam he’d built to keep his feelings for Derek at bay burst, every stifled emotion and hidden agony rushing out, washing over him. “Oh God, Dad.” He sobbed, letting his head fall into his hands. “What kind of man am I?”

His dad put a firm arm around Stiles’ shoulder and pulled him sideways so he was half cradled against the sheriff’s firm chest like he’d done when Stiles was a child. “You’re a _good_ man, Stiles. I know that without any doubt, but why don’t you tell me what’s going on in that head of yours and we’ll see if we can’t work it out together, okay?”

“There’s nothing you can do to help me on this one, Dad.” Stiles sniffled and let himself go lax against his father. “I’m just a supremely fucked up person who’s in love with someone he can never have. Oh, and to top it off, I’m actually dating like the greatest guy in the world, one who just flew across the country to be with me. So, yeah, I’m kind of a dick.” 

Stiles felt a soft kiss on the top of his head, another reminder of days long past. “I’m going to go out a limb and guess that we’re talking about Derek here.”

Snuffling a little against his dad’s shirt, Stiles huffed out a soft laugh. “Your investigative powers are astounding there, Sheriff.”

“Boy, you may have openly given yourself away here, but don’t think this is all news to me.” His father chuckled. “You’ve been pining after that man since you were 17 years old.”

Shocked, Stiles sat up abruptly, looking at the sheriff in disbelief. “You knew? All this time and you didn’t say anything?”

“It wasn’t my place, Stiles. If you’d wanted to talk to me about it, you would have, and I would have listened. But, this was something you seemed to want to keep to yourself, was I wrong?”

“No, you weren’t wrong. My feelings for Derek are something I’ve been trying so hard to get over, and talking about it just makes it harder to move forward.”

“Does Derek know, Son?”

Stiles sighed and shook his head slowly. “I think he did at one time. I, uh, well, I may have kissed him back when I was in high school and it wasn‘t a happy occasion. I’m pretty sure I reeked of teenage hormones and angst there for awhile before I learned to control it better.” He smiled ruefully. “Funny story, it’s one of the few things Deaton was able to teach me back then, to cover the scent of my emotions with the werewolves. He intended for it to keep me safe from the alpha pack initially, but it came in handy with my own pack as well.”

“So, what? As far as Derek is concerned, the feelings you had for him just stopped?” His dad skeptically asked.

“I guess so. I mean, teenage crushes usually die a quick death, right, so it probably didn’t seem strange to him. In any case, I’m sure he was relieved to not have to deal with it anymore.”

“Then why is it that you never came home for more than a week or two at a time after that first Summer? I guess I just assumed it was because it was too hard for you to be around Derek, despite your ‘friendship’ with Danny.”

“Like I said, I learned to hide the emotions from those freaky werewolf senses, but, as you know, I’ve never been good at controlling the actions that go along with my emotions.” Stiles explained, feeling a familiar pang of guilt over the many times he avoided coming home and how that must have felt for his dad. “Being around him for any extended period of time carried to many risks…the first one being an unfortunate instinct to throw myself at him and beg him to want me back.”

The sheriff pretended to consider this. “Hmm, yes, I suppose I can see how that would be a problem. And you aren’t exactly known for being prudent when it comes to your expressing your feelings. Lydia Martin comes to mind.”

“Hey now! I was just a kid when I was chasing after her! I’m a grown-ass man now, I’ll have you know.” God, it felt good to laugh.

“I know you are, son, and I want you to know that I’m insanely proud of the man you’ve become.” The sheriff reached out to ruffle Stiles’ hair. 

“Yeah, a man who just spent the day with his awesome boyfriend and then cries about another guy to his dad. A guy whose wife, the mother of his son, for God’s sake, was just murdered“ Stiles blanched. “I’m pathetic.”

“No, you’re human. We love who we love, son, and sometimes we’re lucky enough to have that person love us back. Love always carries some risk, but, God, it can be so worth it.”

“I just wish it didn’t hurt so damned much, you know? I’ve been waiting to just get over it already, but seeing him just brings it all rushing back. 

“Listen. I know you feel like nothing good can come of this thing you have for Derek, but sometimes, and I know this sounds Lifetime movie trite, sometimes things work out in ways we didn’t expect. Things aren’t always what they seem, Son.”

Stiles opened his mouth to answer, but his dad held up a hand to stop him. “Which brings me to another subject.” His dad looked pained as he continued. “I think we need to talk about Henry.”

“I guess we do. For instance, what was with the cold routine you pulled with him this afternoon, Dad? It was like you decided that you didn‘t like him without even giving him a chance and that‘s not like you. Ever.”

The sheriff managed to pull off actually looking somewhat sheepish. “I apologize if I made my discomfort with him obvious, Stiles. And, yes, I’ll admit, I’m not crazy about you taking up with a werewolf outside of the Beacon Hills pack, but it was more than that.”

“What else could it have been? He couldn’t have been any nicer or more respectful, Dad.”

“There was just something…I’m not sure how to describe it…proprietary, I guess…about the way he was with you, the way he touched you.” He said uncomfortably. “It was unnerving, Stiles. He said all the right things, but there was just something about the way he seemed to need to stake his claim on you physically.”

“Jesus, Dad, he’s a werewolf. You know how they are. They like to be all up in your grill, they’re touchy-feely people…er…people slash wolves or whatever.” Stiles naturally came to Henry’s defense.

“Look, I’ve spent a lot of time around werewolves in the last few years, more time than any sane man should, and what I saw today was different. He treats you like you _belong_ to him, Stiles, and not in a romantic ‘we belong to each other way’, but more in a ‘back off, he’s mine’ way. And I can’t say I'm a fan of it.”

“Dad, seriously, you’re making something out of nothing. He’s a really great guy, I promise.” Stiles knew that it would take more than his say so to convince his dad, though. “Could you at least try to like him a little bit? Give him a chance. For me?”

The sheriff contemplated that for a moment and nodded slowly, looking unconvinced. “For you, I will give him another shot. But, I’m going to be watching him like a hawk, Son, and if I get so much as whiff of something that makes me think you could be in danger, I’m going to go all Argent on his ass, are we clear?”

“Crystal, Sheriff Badass.” Stiles huffed.

“Don’t be cute. I can and will still ground you, kid. Now c’mere and let’s hug it out.”

Stiles gladly let himself be pulled into his dad’s arms, trying to ignore the fact that this was probably only the first of two awkward conversations he was going to have that night.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the week in between chapters lately. I'm hoping to be a bit more prolific now that I have some more free time.

As Stiles sat in Derek’s driveway for the second time that day, he couldn’t convince the small part of him that still, completely inappropriately, looked forward to seeing the other man, to give it a rest. He knew that it was unlikely that the fact that Derek had asked him to come that night, rather than waiting until the next day, boded well for what was to come, and he was almost consumed with anxiety over it. But, his feelings for Derek could almost override anything he else he was experiencing in his life, as the last few years had taught him oh so well.

They’d spoken briefly over the phone about what his father had shared with them regarding Jenna’s murder, both of them reiterating their resolve to get to the bottom of it and protect the pack. Stiles had hoped that once they’d discussed what little they had to go on and the plans in place to continue to move forward with talking to other packs, hunters and law enforcement, but that was not to be. Derek, with his usual patented brand of intensity, had told Stiles that they “needed to talk” and that it couldn’t’ wait. He’d refused to discuss it over the phone, and so Stiles had been left with a ball of nerves in the pit of his stomach as he left the house and made the drive over, pulling up into Derek’s driveway just before midnight. Of course, werewolves, so this was nearly Derek’s midday. As if the alpha didn’t already have so many advantages. He’d also be the one bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, while Stiles was already stifling a yawn and yearning for the comfort of his nicely broken-in bed.

Hesitant to actually get out of the Jeep and face the music, Stiles lowered his head to the steering wheel, letting the pressure over the bridge of his nose soothe the tension that had been building there since his earlier visit. He could hazard a couple of guesses as to why Derek needed to see him so badly, and not a single one gave him even a hint at the possibility of relief. If he had to place money on it, he’d bet that Henry would be the topic of discussion, and he had no idea how he was going to play it. 

Truth be told, he could really fall in love with Henry. He knew he could. And the last thing he needed was Derek, with his ridiculous face and his intense eyes, emanating all that annoyingly hot alpha crap all over the place. He just didn’t need that right now, not when he had the possibility of having something really good for once. Henry was the best thing that had happened to him in almost ever and he didn’t need everything spoiled by Derek and his own completely unsuitable feelings for him. Stiles couldn’t even make sense of why Derek was even a factor in any way other than as the alpha of the pack and, most importantly, a friend he could rely on. Sure, Derek could be a class A dickwad and still hadn’t quite mastered the asking-instead-of-telling or sharing-is-caring things, but when push came to shove (and, damn, that had happened entirely too often for anyone’s comfort), he could always be counted on to do everything in his power to protect everyone around him. Admittedly, he still tended to act first and think later when given the chance, but the rest of the pack had matured enough and gained enough of his hard-earned trust over the years, that he would often seek their counsel when the stakes were highest. Ultimately, he still made the decisions, but they were usually a result of more input than just his own, thankfully. Of course, pack dynamics dictated that they all at least maintain the façade that they were more of a monarchy, of which Derek was the king who ruled with a firm hand, rather than the democracy they had truly become. And they were all okay with that, they knew the truth.

Stiles was shaken out of his thoughts by a sharp tap on the window. Looking up expecting to see Derek, his mouth formed a surprised “O” and then broke out into a huge grin when it was Lydia who was peering at him, her lips pursed in that familiar way that told him that she really didn’t know what she ever saw in him and she wished the feeling would just pass already and she could be done with him.

“Stiles, are you going to sit in this rolling deathtrap all night or are you going to get your ass out here and man up already?” She asked, her muffled voice sounding exasperated.

He opened the door as she stepped back and quickly closed it behind him as he reached for her, enveloping her in his arms, his eyes searching his surroundings. “Please tell me Jackson’s watching me get my stink all over you. You know how I love making him gag like a sick cat.”

Squeezing her own arms tightly around his waist, Lydia’s laugh rumbled into his chest. “Because you‘re an asshole. And, yes, he’s over on the patio, no doubt choking back the dry heaves. Happy?”

“Hmmm…satisfied, I guess. Happy might be too tall of an order right now, Lyds,” he sighed, pressing his mouth to the top of her head, letting his lips rub over her silky hair. He’d always been a sensation-seeker, looking for any kind of sensory input he could get, and, while taking up with werewolves had its dangers, he’d found that the best part of having a pack was that touch was _expected_ , hell it was pretty much mandatory. 

“Yeah, I know what you mean. Happy seems kind of far away right now, doesn’t it,” she said as she pulled back, her eyes glistening in the moonlight, tears threatening to fall.

Stiles turned them both toward the patio and threw an arm around her shoulders. “It does, but we’ll get through it. Promise.” As they approached, he could see Jackson standing next to the door, his arms crossed, a practiced scowl on his face. “Hey, Tramp, quit it with the pouting and come over here. You know you want some of this.” 

The nickname had started freshman year of college when he‘d gone to visit Lydia at her ridiculously posh off-campus condo and her sister‘s kids had been there as well. They’d been watching “Lady and the Tramp” when Stiles had turned to Lydia and crowed happily, “Oh my God, you’re Lady! How did I not see this before? You’re beautiful and smart and fierce and you’re in love with a scoundrel!” He’d cackled on, “Not saying you’re a dog, but Jackson _is_ , to that makes him Tramp, right?” He’d asked before contemplating it for a few seconds. “Except for the fact that Jackson is a dick and Tramp is kinda cool, but still.” Lydia had immediately forbade him from ever calling her “Lady” again, but the nickname for Jackson had kind of stuck and he pulled it out every now and again, thoroughly enjoying Jackson’s huff of annoyance that ensued.

“I guess I should be grateful that you finally quit with the lizard jokes, which weren’t funny, by the way, you gigantic douche,” Jackson answered, coming down off the step toward them, looking like he was afraid his face would crack if he allowed the smile that was threatening the corners of his lips.

“Aw, c’mon, how many times do I have to apologize? I was young and you were an ass, I had to go with whatever ammunition I could get and your, um, unfortunate predicament Sophomore year made it too easy for me.” Stiles huffed. “Now, stop making that face and come put those big, strong arms around me.”

“You’re insufferable, Stilinski,” Jackson grumbled while reaching out and pulling Stiles into a bone crushing hug. “And, for shit’s sake, could you at least try going to a gym every once in a while? This is like holding a wet noodle. It’s gross.”

“Hey, watch it there, you lummox, might does _not_ make right, you know,” Stiles pleaded, squirming out of Jackson’s death grip. “And shut the fuck up, by the way, we both know that this is 175 lbs of pure muscle and sinew up in here. So you can suck it, dog breath.”

“And there it is once again, ladies and gentlemen,” Lydia taunted sweetly. “You could cut the unresolved sexual tension between you two with a knife. Why don’t you just get it on and be done with it already? I promise not to watch. Much.”

Jackson blanched, “Ugh, I just felt my balls shrivel up and die. Besides, we all know where Stiles is radiating all his…” His retort was aborted by Lydia’s finger to his lips and a look on her face that clearly brooked no argument.

Stiles flushed, but stuck his tongue out at both of them, attempting to ignore the cut-off insinuation. “Hush, boy. You know you want a piece of this. But, I’ll have you know that you are shit out of luck, ‘cause I have myself a handsome fella these days and he’s not interested in sharing. So there.”

He heard Lydia mutter something about that explaining a lot, but didn’t have time to ask her to elaborate because Derek appeared in the doorway at that moment, prompting Lydia and Jackson to say their goodbyes before heading over to Lydia’s parents for the rest of the night. They promised Derek they’d be back in the morning to help with the arrangements for Jenna’s service (Stiles sent out a silent prayer of thanks that Lydia could always be counted on to know what needed to be done and how to make it happen)

“I’m glad they were both able to get away,” Stiles offered as he trailed behind Derek into the living room, trying to put off the inevitable. 

Derek made his way over to one of the sofas and sat down, motioning for Stiles to join him. “Have a seat, and, for the love of God, stop looking at me like that.”

“I’m not sure what you expect, Derek.” Stiles scoffed. “It’s hardly a social call when his highness demands an audience in the middle of the night.” He felt a little bad when he saw the way Derek’s face fell just a little. The guy had been through so much and it really wasn’t Stiles’ intention to make things harder on him, but, damn it, he couldn’t give him a free pass to make decisions about who Stiles could and couldn’t see. There had to be a line somewhere.

Derek leaned back into the cushions and ran his hand through his hair. “Don’t be a dick. You could have said ‘no’, it wouldn’t have been the first time.” 

“I’m sorry. It’s been a long day and I’m pretty sure I’m not going to like anything you’re about to say, so let’s just cut to the chase here, okay?” Stiles tried to keep his voice from betraying just how much sway Derek’s opinion carried. “Look, I get that whatever that shit was that went down between you and Henry earlier was…unfortunate. He acted like a possessive asshole and you were no tiptoe through the tulips yourself. It‘s a wolf thing, I get it, but…”

Stiles saw a flicker of red in Derek’s eyes for the first time in longer than he could remember, but it was gone almost as soon as he recognized it. “Jesus Christ, Stiles,” Derek bit out. “You’ve seen the way we conduct ourselves, how hard we work to be accommodating to other packs. This isn’t some fucking ‘wolf thing’, this is an ‘alpha thing’, you idiot.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Stiles sputtered, more than a little taken aback by Derek’s anger, something that hadn’t been directed at him in years. “And before you answer that, let me just say a giant ‘fuck you’, Derek. I came over here so we could talk, not to listen to you insult me.” Stiles sprung up from where he was sitting. “As a matter of fact, you either dial it back a notch or I’m out of here. I get that shit is crazy right now, I do, but you‘re not going to act like this. I‘m not going to be your punching bag.”

Derek jumped up as well, reaching for Stiles’ arm to pull him gently back. “You’re right. I’m trying here, Stiles, I really am,” he said, his voice several shades calmer. “Everything’s a mess and my wolf is getting restless, especially with the full moon coming. Sit back down, I'll have better control, I promise.”

Letting Derek lead him back to the sofa, Stiles sighed. “I know this must all be a nightmare for you and, if it makes any difference, I think you’re handling everything really well.” Stiles gave him a lopsided grin. “Or at least you were. So let’s start over, shall we?”

Derek nodded and gestured toward himself in a silent request to speak. With Stiles’ nodding assent, he continued. “What do you know about the hierarchy of Henry’s pack?”

“Um, not a whole lot. I don’t spend much time with anyone besides Henry, to be honest. We’ve been trying to do our own thing without having to worry about the wolf stuff just yet, you know?” Stiles realized how naïve that may have been now that he was saying it out loud. “Why?”

“So, Henry’s never told you who’s next in line to be alpha?” Derek asked flatly.

And just like that, Stiles knew. 

He was going to have to choose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do have a tumblr (same name), if anyone is interested. I don't have a whole lot to say, so you're not missing much, however.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a filler chapter to get us from point A to point B timewise. Things will start moving quickly after this, as I'm sure you're all ready to get this thing over with. Also, while I apologize for the delay in posting, I can assure you that another chapter will be up before the week's out. 
> 
> Bless Spring Break and a week away from work! I love my job, but I have a fic to write, damn it!

Stiles spent the next week dividing his time between his dad, the pack and Henry. He’d avoided any further interactions between Henry and the pack, knowing that having a foreign wolf in their space would be more stressful for them than they deserved with everything else going on. They’d all been informed that Henry was in Beacon Hills, but since Derek had already had an introduction and had given his acquiescence for the outsider to remain for the duration of his stay, it was unnecessary for the rest of them to be involved. In addition, Stiles had told Derek he needed time to think and the opportunity to talk to Henry about everything, and they’d tabled their discussion for the time being, so no one else was aware of the totality of the situation. 

Outside of Boyd on that first day, only Scott had been formerly introduced, his place as Stiles’ best friend making it a necessity. Scott had been incredibly understanding as soon as Stiles had told him that he’d met the werewolf, and had grudgingly allowed Stiles to have the time to get to know Henry before bringing the pack into it, but now that Henry was in Beacon Hills, Stiles knew he couldn’t keep his boyfriend and best friend apart anymore. The meeting had gone as well as could be expected, he supposed, both wolves doing a minimal amount of posturing, but there was a decided lack of the gregariousness that typically ensued when Scott had met any of Stiles’ new friends. Aside from those first few months with Peter and Derek, Scott rarely met a person he didn’t like, and he hoped that would eventually hold true with Henry. 

He hadn’t mentioned the fact that Henry was going to be an alpha to Scott, and it wasn’t something Scott could sense. As it had turned out, it wasn’t something Derek had sensed either. It was something he’d learned from contacting the Philadelphia pack, who were only more than happy to provide him with whatever information he wanted, embarrassed that Stiles’ relationship with Henry had floated under their radar. Stiles, of course, had assured Derek that he’d very deliberately kept his relationship a secret from them, limiting his physical contact with them, keeping to texting and phone calls to assure them of his continued safety. And he’d made sure that Henry kept his distance (and his scent) from Stiles’ apartment, which had been fine with both of them considering it was rare that at least one of his roommates wasn’t home…something that would have made spending time doing what boyfriends tend to do difficult at best anyway. 

He had no idea how he was going to broach the alpha conversation with Scott, given his own confusion about what it would mean in the long run. He knew Scott as well as he knew himself, and there was no way the other man wouldn’t freak out. Scott would immediately know the precarious position it put Stiles in and would be looking for reassurances Stiles wasn’t prepared to give just yet. He knew that he wouldn’t have to give up his friends if he chose Henry, that he would still be able to be a part of their lives, but he couldn’t be part of their _pack_ , and that thought was almost unbearable. But, not being with Henry wasn’t something he was ready to contemplate either. Things between them had been good, at least up until his return to Beacon Hills. He’d been happy, reveling in being in a solid relationship that looked like it had a future. Now, he was too confused to make sense of the options he‘d be facing, so a part of him was more than happy to avoid the issues for a little while longer.

He’d also avoided discussing all of it with Henry himself, preferring to wait until after the funeral to open up that can of worms. A part of him wondered if Henry had deliberately kept his status from Stiles and what it meant if that was the case. Henry had been so angry that Stiles had downplayed his involvement in the pack, and Stiles couldn’t fathom how he could have reacted that way if he’d been intentionally holding back information as well. He conceded that it could have just been something that hadn’t come up yet, that they’d both agreed to keep the wolf stuff on a back burner while they got to know each other, but it still rankled. There was very little they’d have had to talk about that was as important as the fact that Henry would be an alpha. But he really did want to give Henry the benefit of the doubt.

In any case, all of his emotions were too close to the surface to handle anything more and he certainly wasn’t in any kind of headspace to make decisions about his future. Henry, not surprisingly, had sensed that there was more going on with Stiles than Jenna’s death, but had graciously agreed to table it until things had died down.

He and Derek hadn’t spent any time alone since the night he’d learned about Henry’s future status, instead they’d only been together as part of the pack as a whole. Everyone was rallying around Derek and Mason, trying to fill in the gaping holes left by the wife and mother. And, Derek, surprisingly, seemed more than happy to share the load with them. He’d long since learned to accept help and work as part of a team, and the pack had been working as a unit for long enough that they’d built up the kind of trust that Stiles imagined Derek had grown up with in his own family. 

And then there was Mason. As the only child in the pack, he was pretty much the center of attention at every gathering, the werewolves seemingly desperate to mingle their scents with his, and the humans just as obsessed with getting their own turn to cuddle his pudgy little body. He was a quiet, happy baby with his father’s dark hair and his mother’s button nose and easy smile, and they were all just a little bit in love with him. In fact, any light-hearted bickering or subtle growling usually only came as a result of someone or another feeling slighted at not getting enough time with him, not getting their fair share. And Stiles was no exception. Mason was really the first baby he’d been around for anything more than a few minutes, as both his mother’s and father’s families had been small, and he was genuinely surprised to find that he was actually a huge fan of chubby baby feet and soft baby bellies. So it turned out that the baby thing? _Yes please. I’ll take two in every color._

The week flew by in a flurry of activity and not a small amount of juggling for Stiles, but fly by it did and the day to say their final goodbyes finally came.

When the day of Jenna’s service finally arrived, it was harder on Stiles than he had anticipated. His own grief from losing a friend and the painful suffering of the entire pack were magnified by the guilt over the way his return to Beacon Hills immediately threw him back into the throes of his complicated feelings for Derek. Even as he stood graveside, he couldn’t help but steal glances at the alpha, Mason nestled in his arms, heartsick from both Derek’s unbelievable loss and his own emotional response to seeing the man he was afraid he‘d never stop pining for in so much pain. Stiles’ entire body buzzed with the overwhelming need to reach out and touch, his fingers clenched in his pockets to keep them from following through.

Lydia had planned a beautiful send-off, eschewing her own often over-the-top sensibilities for something more organic and simple, something befitting the woman Jenna was. They’d all learned years ago that when Lydia swooped in and took over, it was because she had an innate ability to assess a situation and address every detail, whether she was drawing up a contract to co-op resources between packs or identifying and respecting werewolf customs while still operating within the confines of human traditions as well. 

After the service, all those in attendance were invited back to Derek’s for a catered lunch. The house was as full as Stiles had ever seen it, it seemed as if half the town had shown up. Jenna had been an omega, having lost her pack to hunters a few months before she had arrived in Beacon Hills, looking for the Hale pack, who she’d remembered from when she was a child, and, as such, had no family or friends outside of Beacon Hills to speak of. But, she’d been a member of the community long enough and had charmed everyone she’d met with a vivaciousness that had belied a gentle soul. So, the town had accepted her as one of their own, hence the overwhelming number of guests who’d shown up to offer condolences, assistance, and, of course, copious amounts of baked goods and casseroles for the newly single father.

As Stiles made his way into the open kitchen, he found himself with two arms full of soft, warm baby. “Here. I have to go find Boyd, he’s kind of taking this whole thing really hard and he’ll wallow in silence if I don’t make him talk. And this little guy‘s looking about ready for a nap, so if you wouldn‘t mind?” 

“Go easy on Boyd, okay? I have a feeling this whole thing is bringing up memories from when we thought the alpha pack had, you know…” Stiles still found it hard to say the words, choosing instead to let Erica fill in the blanks. “He probably just needs some time to work things out in his head a little bit.”

Erica rolled her eyes. “For fuck’s sake, Stiles, I’m not still that impulsive kid who acts first and thinks later. I just don’t want him to internalize this like he does everything else. Now, let me go find Boyd and why don’t you go find our alpha?” She leaned forward to place a kiss on Mason’s forehead before pivoting on her heel and heading toward the back of the house.

Stiles looked down at the half-asleep infant and couldn’t help but smile. Kid was cute, no two ways about that. Of course, he’d won the genetic lottery with his parents, but he’d seen some unfortunate looking babies come from outstandingly beautiful people, so he knew that there were no guarantees. “C’mon, Mase Face, let’s get you upstairs and give you a break from all this, how ‘bout that?” Stiles whispered, his nose nuzzling a sweet-smelling cheek, while he made his way toward the stairs. He looked around at the groups of people milling around the open lower level, trying to catch sight of Derek to let him know where Mason was, but couldn’t find him. Assuming that he might be outside with some of the other guests, Stiles went ahead and took Mason upstairs, knowing he could look for Derek afterward.

His plans changed when he pushed the door of the master bedroom open to find Derek sprawled out on the bed, his feet planted on the floor and his eyes trained in Stiles direction. “Oh, hey, I’m sorry, man. I didn’t know you were in here. I just came up to put this little guy down for some Z’s…much needed if the fucking adorable little snores coming out of his mouth are any indication.”

Derek blinked and slowly pulled himself up into a sitting position, weariness coming off him in waves. “No, it’s fine. Thanks for looking after him. I should have kept him with me, kept him from being passed around like a party favor, but I assumed Erica could handle any grabby hands.”

“Nah, it was no problem. Erica was doing her job admirably, I’m sure, she just wanted to find Boyd and I was more than happy to get my own grabby hands on him.” Stiles walked over and gingerly placed the completely zonked baby into the crib, letting one hand linger against his back for a gentle pat, not quite ready to walk away from him. “Sheesh, babies, man. Who knew? I kind of thought I’d like one or two of my own some day, you know, you’re supposed to, right? But I had no idea I‘d hold one and fall ass over feet.” Stiles sighed, moving his hand to softly rub Mason’s thatch of dark hair. “Makes you never want to walk away, the little shit.”

The sound of Derek mumbling brought his head around.

“What was that, Der?”

“I said, ‘so don’t’. Don’t walk away. Stay.” Derek said, loudly enough to be heard this time.

Stiles walked over to the bed and plopped himself down next to Derek. “Hey, I’ll be here for a little while longer. Is there something you need from me? Just ask, man.”

Derek blew a weary breath through his nose and turned to look at Stiles, his eyes searching Stiles’ face. “What I _need_ is for you not to be across the damned country. What I _need_ is for you to be here with m…us.”

Stiles snuck his hands under his legs to keep from reaching out smooth the worry lines on Derek’s forehead. He was starting to think that his hands had a mind of their own. “Listen, man. Let’s not do this right now, okay?” Stiles pleaded softly. “Everything is feeling really raw right now and you’re unsettled. There’s still a lot we have to get through and now isn’t the time to talk through this.”

Derek huffed and looked away. “Whatever.”

“Hey, no, you’re not allowed to do that. Look, you just lost your wife, which is something I can’t even imagine, and to make matters worse, I know that this whole Henry thing is ruffling your alpha feathers, but we agreed that we’d put that discussion on the back burner until I had a chance to talk to him.” Stiles bumped his knee against Derek’s. “I don’t want to argue with you, not now. Okay?”

“Yeah, Stiles. Okay.” Derek said quietly before he got up from the bed and walked out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I tell you all a secret? I wish I'd had Jenna die of natural causes. My original idea for her murder doesn't sit well with me anymore and I'm floundering a bit with how to tell that part of the story in a way that's satisfying to those of you who are interested in the mystery surrounding it.
> 
> Why do I have to make everything so hard?


End file.
